


Stray Kids Imagines (x reader)

by bandaigaeru



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:02:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 53,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21712681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bandaigaeru/pseuds/bandaigaeru
Summary: i'm fairly new to ao3 so i'm super sorry if this formatting is awful. my primary place to post is tumblr (same user as here) so if you feel more comfortable reading over there, you have the option :)
Relationships: Bang Chan/Reader, Han Jisung | Han/Reader, Hwang Hyunjin/Reader, Kim Seungmin/Reader, Lee Felix (Stray Kids)/Reader, Lee Minho | Lee Know/Reader, Seo Changbin/Reader, Yang Jeongin | I.N/Reader, skz x reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 74





	1. Virtual Reality - Bang Chan

**Author's Note:**

> i'm fairly new to ao3 so i'm super sorry if this formatting is awful. my primary place to post is tumblr (same user as here) so if you feel more comfortable reading over there, you have the option :)

**synopsis: a game enters pop culture where any risk is worth taking.**  
**warnings: scenarios that may invoke anxiety, swearing**  
**word count: 10k**

**i.**

"Are you gonna slow down any?" you inquired playfully as Changbin slurped his noodles up. He glanced up momentarily with the eyes of a child who just got caught doing something they shouldn't have. Without commenting, he returned his gaze to his noodles.

You release a breath somewhere between irritation and boredom, dropping your chopsticks into your half-full noodle cup and pushing it towards him. Even if he was about to be full from his noodles, you knew he'd make room to finish yours. Noodles are noodles. And to him, all noodle lives matter.

"Why are we even in the mall if all you're gonna do is eat noodles?" you pout as subtle impatience tinges your words. For thirty minutes, you had sat there. Simply staring at one another while the traffic of people encloses you in the food court.

"I told you already," Changbin briefly states, swiping at the grease residing at the corner of his lip.

He wants to get this game that, in all honesty, was probably a waste of his paycheck. At the same time, he didn't even need to work considering the wealth circulating around his family. So could you really complain?

As you roll your eyes, he scoffs, a pointer finger flying up, "Don't give me the 'tude, young lady."

"'Tude? Are you an elderly man chastising his grandchild?" you lean forward contently now that you have gotten the boy to focus on something other than his food. He snags your noodle cup and shoves his chopsticks around it.

"Yes, Y/N. Do not insult my vocabulary," he attempted to say with a straight face. Halfway through his words, a giggle erupted from his stomach and invaded the air like toxic gas.

Changbin swallows the final cluster of your noodles before standing. A laugh still clung desperately to his words as he says, "C'mon, let's go get the game of the year."

The busy mall was accompanied by the chatter of teenage girls and their cliques. It smelled like cheap perfume and high school memories. You couldn't help but smile at the girls staring Changbin down like he was a cute animal in a petting zoo because if you had known Changbin in high school, you probably would have done the same.

While Changbin ran into the game store to pick up his preordered copy of _Risks_ , you waited in the leather massaging recliners just outside. Who would think that a single dollar could send you into a heaven on earth?

Despite the fact that you were in a state of ultimate tranquility, you couldn't help but glance into the GameStop to assure yourself Changbin was still there among the crowd. It's not like he could go anywhere, yet still, you were scared he'd get kidnapped. Or stabbed. Or both.

Finally, he emerges from the store with a white bag containing a VR set and the game. He advances towards you with light steps. If every step could make a sound to represent his emotions, they'd be squeaking like a little puppy.

"They're doing a giveaway for a free copy of _Risks,_ " Changbin states as he relaxes into the recliner to the left of you. He didn't even need to pay to be sent into dreamland.

"Nice," you mumble, eyes falling shut as you could finally relax into the massager.

"I signed you up for it, gave them your embarrassing email and everything," Changbin teases, reaching to tickle your chin.

You jump away from him, eyes shooting open, "You didn-"

"Oh, but I did. Shibalover99," he interrupts and smiles broadly.

Your cheeks grow hot with shame. Darn you, Y/N, aged thirteen for choosing the thing you thought best represented you at that moment in time. You return to the mold you had previously created, shoulders slouching. Your mediocre day felt a little more mediocre now.

"Chin up, you know I wouldn't do that to you. I signed Jisung up for it. And Seungmin. And maybe Chan," Changbin stands, adjusting the way his jeans rested on his hips before pulling you from the recliner with a tug of your wrist.

You look at him weird when the realization of what he said hits you, "Jisung? As in the Jisung who is prone to epileptic seizures? Your roommate Jisung?"

Changbin stifles a laugh. "Yes, my roommate Jisung, the one prone to seizures."

"Changbin!" you shout, swinging at his chest in dismay. He stumbles for a second, taking the blow like a knife to the chest. Dramatic, per usual.

"No, but really, I signed you up. Using my email," he assures, sticking his pinky up to kindle a promise.

You roll your eyes, ignoring the proposal.

The fresh fall breeze kissed the patches of bare skin of your arms as you emerge from the mall. You inhale sharply, nostalgia hitting from when you were a kid and about to go Trick or Treating with your best friends. You can't help but smile down at your shoes because of the memories. Autumn was _that_ season. And no one could argue otherwise. Not even Changbin, who thought winter, of all seasons, was the superior.

**ii.**

A month passes like a night's sleep and winter was beginning to show its symptoms. You were bidding goodbye to Halloween, pumpkin everything, and sweaters for the downgrade of Christmas, awkwardly big coats, and ice storms. On the bright side, winter break was merely a week away. That means Christmas was within ten days, and Changbin was joyous, to say the very least.

Jisung had sent you a video of the boy jumping around their dorm while singing "Silver Bells" in a very exaggeratedly deep voice. At the very end of the video, the camera pans to Chan's disgusted face and zooms in dramatically. You shook your head in awe as you typed out a short response claiming you were concerned for all of their sanity. 

Merely two minutes later, you received a FaceTime call from none other than Jisung. A couple of seconds go by and you can feel the urgency through the phone as the ringtone is one vibration away from ending the call. Finally, you swipe across the screen. Jisung's, too close to the screen, face invades your sight.

"Why did you answer so late? I'm about to have a fucking seizure," Jisung hyperventilates. In the background of the call, you could hear Chan's desperate cries for help as Changbin's inescapable singing resonates.

You smile to yourself as a laugh tickles your throat, dropping your phone on your bed and letting Jisung look at the dullness of your dorm's ceiling while you return to the homework waiting on your laptop. "Is it necessary to call when I'm doing a psych test?"

"First of all, why are you taking a test at home? Second of all, are you going to ignore the fact my life is on the line right now?" Another scream emerges from the other side and you fight the temptation to cackle.

"Have you never had a take-home test? You poor soul," you trail off. Again, you ignored the second half of his statement, but he didn't seem to notice this time. Or, at least he didn't care to comment on it once more.

After a particularly bad note from Changbin, Jisung whines in exasperation. "Can I please come to your dorm? Is Jihyo there?"

"She's not here, no. So I guess you can come over. Just don't let Changbin follow you," you sigh, glancing around at the mess of your dorm. If he's coming over, you should probably clean up.

"Thank you Y/N! I'll be over in twenty!" he yells gratefully, hanging up before you have a chance to respond.

A heavy breath escapes your slightly parted lips as your back slouches over. You rub your hands over your bare face as if to shake you into reality. Through your fingers, you look at the laptop. Three questions left. So if you gave yourself time to finish this test, you'd lose five minutes. With the remaining fifteen, you could definitely clean yourself and your room up a little. Yeah, you can do that.

But Jisung is the worst at estimating time. Just as you were closing your laptop and pushing yourself off of your bed, there was a knock at your door.

"God damn it, Jisung," you mutter under your breath as you rush to the door. As your hand gripped the doorknob, you glanced down at your clothes. A sweater you had been using as pajamas for the past week and gym shorts from high school that were way too comfy to be classified as gym shorts. Whatever, it's too late for you to change anyway.

"You said twenty minutes," you blankly state as you swing the door open. Beside Jisung stood the blond boy who you'd seen around campus, but never grew to knew. He was looking left and right, but never to you.

Jisung pushes past you, grabbing Chan's wrist and dragging him inside. He closes the door behind him quickly, resting his back against it and releasing a sigh of relief.

"Changbin chased us all the way here, screaming 'Hey There Delilah!' That's not even a Christmas song!" Jisung panted, a bead of sweat falling from his chin and onto the fuzzy gray rug you had laid among the tiled floor.

You shake your head as you advance to your bed. As you move your laptop to the desk beside you, Chan and Jisung fight over a beanbag on Jihyo's side of the room.

A soft knock comes from the other side of the door and Jisung flinches, throwing himself into Chan's arms. You could hear the soft singing of "Feliz Navidad" from the little crack beneath the door.

Chan tries pushing the clinging boy away from him with all of the power in his body. Flailing his arms and legs all while trying not to kick Jisung in the face on accident.

While the two boys were distracted with whatever they were doing, you got up, moving swiftly to the door. You quietly open it, pressing a finger to your lips to silence Changbin's singing. He enters your dorm with light steps before he pounces on the two boys practically cuddling on the floor.

"Merry Christmas!" Changbin screams as he puts all of his body weight on both boys.

"Y/N!" Jisung yells out as he sputters, "how could you betray us like this?"

Nearly three minutes pass of straight screaming while you watch like a bored parent with your arms across your chest. Jihyo walks in behind you, taking the empty spot beside you as if it were made for her.

"Is this what happens when I'm gone?" she inquires, mocking your stance.

You glance at her. "Yeah, pretty much."

She nods, slightly amused. Finally, she takes a step forward. Wobbling a foot over Changbin's back for a second, she kicks him over. The boys break away from each other abruptly when they see her.

They jump to their feet, bowing in apology. "Sorry, Jihyo," they say in chorus.

"You know," Chan starts for the door, "I think we should get going. We'll see you later, Y/N."

As he passes you, he delivers a short smile. It sends a party of butterflies to your stomach that confuses you for a second.

The moment the door closes, Jihyo tosses her bag to the floor beside her bed and lies down. "Who was blondie? He was cute."

"Oh, Chan? He's friends with Jisung and Changbin. I don't know him that much, though," you state quickly.

"You two would be cute together," she smiles, a mocking tune in her voice. It's as if she can read your mind sometimes. More specifically, your feelings.

"His face is annoying," you roll your eyes, returning to your own bed. Although, that statement was a complete lie. You just knew that if you stayed quiet, she would continue to tease you. Given that, if the butterflies continued to appear and you kept saying bad things about him, you'd convince yourself that it'd be true.

**iii.**

Christmas was spent at Changbin's mansion of a home. Your family was out of town on their annual trip to New York, and you weren't necessarily invited, so you really had nowhere else to go. Plus, the Seo family was very open to new members of the family and they treated you no different than they would Changbin.

On the morning of Christmas, you were awoken by the impatient child that is Changbin with Jisung looking amusedly over his shoulder. Your whines and groans go ignored as Changbin tugs at your wrist like a child.

"Y/N," Changbin whined in the most nasal voice he could muster. "If you don't get up, I'm gonna tickle you."

"Fine, I'm up," you huff, sitting up while strands of hair fell in front of your face. The bedhead struggle was real, and evidently against you.

"Now hurry up, it's time to open presents!" Jisung jumps excitedly. His red flannel pants matched his sweater and the innocence of a child adorned his features. He flees the room with a skip in his step. Changbin follows suit, leaving you in the loneliness of the guest bedroom.

You inhale deeply, suddenly realizing your role in the friend group. You nod slowly before pushing yourself from the bed and wandering to the bathroom that was attached to the room. Who knew that houses could have three different bedrooms with en suites? Certainly not you three days prior.

Quickly, you push your hair out of your face and make yourself look somewhat presentable. You lean towards the mirror, glancing at the bags beneath your eyes and pulling at them slightly.

Waiting for you downstairs was a feast of a breakfast. A buffet line of food, essentially. Changbin was chewing a piece of toast with jam while Jisung was tackling a stack of waffles and eggs.

"Good morning," Mrs. Seo, who had instructed you to call her by her first name, greeted with a grin. She stood at the kitchen island, a mug of coffee in her cupped hands. A laptop sat before her and you assumed she was working from home. Considering the luxury she lived, work had to be done somehow. Even when it was Christmas.

You return the smile and tell her the same. For a second, you stand in front of the food in awe, facing the question of whether you should be modest or follow your stomach.

Mrs. Seo giggles, "Help yourself, dear. No need to be shy."

Now that you obtained permission to perform the latter, you grab a plate and stack a variety of pancakes upon it, a bagel or two, and a single slice of toast with a blanket of pumpkin jam on it. You join Jisung and Changbin at the long, wooden table.

The Christmas tree glowed magically from the living room while Christmas classics played on the television. Jisung reached to the middle of the table to pour himself another glass of orange juice. He offered some to you, which you gladly accepted. Fresh, hand made orange juice. Who could say no?

Mrs. Seo sits down beside you, smiling as she glances between the three of you.

"When Changbin was a kid," she began, a fond expression adorning her face as nostalgia began to unfurl.

Changbin's gaze shot up. "Do not even start."

"Oh shush. Anywho, when Changbin was a kid, he used to sit down here all by himself on Christmas morning and wait for his father and me to wake up. He didn't want to wake us since he knew we worked a lot and were always tired," she leaned over the table to pinch her son's cheeks.

"You were so compassionate," she returns her back to her chair. A sigh escapes her lips.

"Hmm, what went wrong?" you joke, earning a light kick beneath the table.

The conversation lives on throughout breakfast as everyone tells stories from their best Christmases until Mr. Seo arrives. His windbreaker rubbed against itself as his steps came closer to the dining room.

"Sorry I'm late, I had to run out and get some stuff from my mom's house," he says, a slight pant conjoining to his breath.

"Can we open presents now?" Changbin asks with a glimmer in his eyes. The same you would see in a child.

Mr. Seo smiles at his son, "Yes, Binnie, we can go open presents now."

With that, everyone migrates to the living room. By demand of Mrs. Seo, the 'children' sat on the floor while the adults sat on the couches. If you were home, you'd be complaining, but even their floors were comfortable. You wouldn't be surprised if they were heated.

You watched intently as gifts were exchanged, your knees hugged to your chest. You felt safe and at home. Peaceful, even. Like you belonged here.

"Y/N, this one's for you!" Changbin exclaims. He pushes a medium-sized box towards you. His giddiness amused you.

"C'mon," he urged, an excited smile resting on his lips, "open it!"

You tore at the Spongebob wrapping paper with hesitance. For all you know, something gross could lie beneath and his parents could be left there, staring at you with their mouths agape. But regardless, revealing the gift was inevitable and eventually, there it was.

"Really, Changbin?" you laugh, looking between the VR game set and him.

His smile was so wide you could barely see his eyes, and that alone made it contagious.

"Thank you, Bin."

"You're very welcome," he says, the smile not even phasing his words.

For the rest of the present opening tradition, you sat there, smiling down at the present. You even read the back of _Risks_ to see what it entailed. On your own, you would have continued to give the game no further thought. Regardless, the gift started as a joke. Yet, now, it gave you a sudden interest. 

And the byline stuck in your head. _Do the things you're too scared to._

**iv.**

When you returned to your dorm, the VR game was presently tempting to try out. You had nothing better to do.

You reach from your bed, grabbing the unopened box and setting it in front of you. You slowly unpackage it with hesitance as if something would pop out at you. As you unveil the headset and game, you begin to pick up your pace. The want for adventure increases as you pull the headset out, slipping the disc into the game cartridge and pulling the headset over your head.

You power it up, greeting the home screen. Pressing the 'new game' option, you were welcomed with a new screen.

_Risks requires permission to your console's data in order to operate. Give access?_

_ Yes _ _No_

A character customization screen invaded your view. The automated character already looked close enough to how you did. So you proceeded.

_Input Player ID (you can change this later in your settings)_

You sigh, putting in the only thing you could think of. _Shibalover99._

_This is a simulation. You will be paired with another player. Communicate. Live. Take a risk. Are you ready to begin?_

_ Yes _ _No_

Darkness engulfs your screen. Your character's eyelids progressively revealed that you were on a plane. The shades were down and the flight attendants were passing out water. Beside you was a boy, blond hair and a black headband pushing his hair back, sleeping. Above his head was the tag 'CB97.'

No one else had a tag like that. He must be your teammate.

You watched as his eyelashes twitched before his eyes subsequently fluttered open. A cough tickled his throat as he glanced over at you. His gaze went to just above your head before a chuckle invaded the air.

"Shibalover? Please don't tell me you're a twelve-year-old gamer girl," his voice was deep, husky even. It really sounded like he just woke up.

"Oh no, don't tell me you're a misogynistic gamer boy who thinks he's edgy for hating women when in reality he's just intimidated because he knows he can't get a real woman," you counter, an overly exaggerated gasp clinging to the end your sentence.

His character cocks his head to the side and smiles. "I actually have a girlfriend, but go off."

"Hmm, that's surprising," you tease, glancing at the seat in front of you where a screen showed the flight progress. Three hours until landing. Stuck here.

He laughs slightly at your words. "Yeah, I don't actually have a girlfriend. Although, I am interested in having one. It depends on how old you are though."

Cocky and annoying. This was going to be a long playthrough.

"I'm 20, for your information, but don't get your hopes up. For all you know, I could like women. Only women."

Turbulence shakes the plane for a moment and CB97 tenses up beside you. The seatbelt light flashes above you and you tightened the belt across your lap.

You glance over at the boy from the corner of your eye, who was gripping the ends of the armrests. "Are you scared of flying?" 

He looks at you, his face pale, "Pfft, no."

The turbulence heightens itself and he grips at your animated hand, tightly holding it. You try to break free, yet he only clutches your hand tighter.

"How can someone as cocky as you be afraid of flying?" you mutter, relaxing your hand in his. You could feel the warmth even though this wasn't real.

Overhead, the pilot announces that the plane is unable to undergo an emergency landing and it is advised that those sitting by the emergency exits should open it and grab the floatation device beneath their seat.

"Wait, planes don't have parachutes, do they?" CB97 asks, breath short.

"No, but this is a game. Now hurry up and push your way through the crowd. They can afford to die, they're NPCs," you advise, reaching beneath your seat to grab your parachute.

"Oh come on," you huff when you don't feel anything.

You snatch the one from CB's hands, helping him put it on before connecting yourself to it. You're lucky it was equipped with a harness for tandem purposes. Or maybe the game meant it to be that way.

"Okay, you're in charge of this, so when we get close to the ground, pull this string," you advise patiently, gently holding the red string.

"Have you done this before?" he asked, tears scraping his throat.

"Once. In New York, now come on. On the count of three."

"One." His hands grew shaky.

"Two." His body was about to shut down.

"Three." He jumped.

The air felt like thousands of little slaps to the face and you were nearly deaf with the help of the whipping wind to the boy's terrified screams.

The earth was growing closer and you could see the flat, sandy desert beginning to grow closer.

"Pull the string!" you shouted. Your mouth was dry and you weren't even sure if your vocal cords were making any noise.

"What?"

"Pull the string!" you repeated, slightly louder. When he still couldn't hear, you fought the force of the wind to reach behind you and did it yourself.

With only the luck of this being a simulation, you landed safely. A slight tinge of adrenaline coursed through your veins as it exponentially grew. You unhooked yourself from the boy who easily would have gotten you killed in real life and sat down on the sandy hill you had landed on. 

You huff, glancing down at the red crescent moons of your palms from where your nails had dug into them. "Good job for almost getting us killed."

"How about you try facing your fears. It's a lot harder than it looks, okay?" CB97 mocked your huff, taking a seat beside you on the hill.

"What even is your name anyway?" you ask, distracting yourself from the headache he was giving you.

"Chris."

You begin to laugh. He looks at you confusedly.

"I'm sorry," you managed, "you just have a douchebag name. It's quite fitting."

"Oh yeah? What's your name, princess?" he retaliates. Despite the fact that he meant it in a 'you're stuck up like a princess' way, you couldn't help but think of another meaning to the nickname. And a familiar set of butterflies constrict your windpipe.

"Y/N."

He stays silent, a sudden tension rising. What was he supposed to say? It would be repetitive if he took your approach and mocked your name, yet it'd be inappropriate to flirt considering the foot you had set off on.

"Can we make a deal?" he asks, breaking the silence with a quiet voice. You could barely hear him.

"Depends," you say.

"Let's just start over. We're gonna have to be teammates for the whole game, right? If we're assholes to each other, it'll filter our real thoughts of the game and we're gonna end up hating it even if we really don't want to. Deal?" he explains thoroughly. He sticks his hand out, waiting for you to shake it.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" you ask, playing into his scenario.

His character smiles and he brings his hand to scratch the back of his neck. "My name's CB97, but you can call me Chris. And you?"

"Y/N, but you can call me Y/N because I'm changing my Player ID soon."

"Great, 'cos Shibalover doesn't fit you too well. We should probably go find a place to stay," Chris announces, lifting himself from the sand. He offers a hand to pull you up and you accept it. In the top right corner of your screen, a text appears.

_New mission: find a place to stay._

"Let's go."

Walking side by side, the desert looked endless. But as you continued, a city began to form in the distance. Each step made it twenty times closer and soon enough, you could see a huge sign with the name 'Seokyo' in big white letters.

You shove your hands in your pockets. You look off into the distance, a gentle breeze accompanies the warm sunset.

"How are we even gonna find a place to stay if we don't have money?" you inquire. As if summoning yet another mission, in the top right of your screen another scribble of words appeared.

 _Talk to Minho at the Hilton_.

"Alright, never mind," you laugh to yourself.

A glowing green trail guides you and Chris to the entrance of the Hilton. Outside, a boy was waiting. He looked frantic, almost in search of someone. Above his head was the name Minho.

When he catches sight of the two walking towards him, his shoulders bounce in animated anger. "Where have you two been? I've been sitting out here for two hours!" He grips at your and Chris' wrists, dragging you into the Hilton and towards the elevator.

"We were too busy almost dying," you remark. Minho shoots you a look and the smile disappears from your face.

"Sorry, but who are you?" Chris asks as the elevator slides open.

"Don't worry about that right now," Minho shakes his head, pushing you into the elevator and following with Chris.

He steps into the elevator, pressing the twelfth button. As it begins its route, you glance out of either side of the glass walls. Chris gripped at your hand as he tried not to look beneath his feet, where the people in the lobby were beginning to look more like ants.

"Alright, here's your key," Minho shoves the card into the palm of your hand. "Your room is the last one on the right. If you need me, I'll be wherever you are. Just tap this."

He points to the watch on your wrist which definitely was not there two seconds ago.

"Wait-" you begin as the elevator doors glide open. But as you begin to speak, a poof of glitter falls to the ground and Minho is gone.

You grunt, forcing your hand out of Chris' before stepping out of the elevator. Chris follows closely behind you. So close you can nearly feel his hot breath on the back of your neck. Just as you would if you were driving and someone was doing the same, you stop without warning. Chris' chest rams into your shoulder and you can't help but laugh at the way he jumps back.

"What was that for?" he gripes.

"I just wanted to brake check you," you manage through laughter, glancing up at him. He chews on his bottom lip for a moment, nodding slightly before returning to the pace he had held prior. This time, making sure to walk barely in front of you.

The room at the end of the hall was strangely distant from the others. You slid the keycard through the reader, granting access to the room.

"Woah," your mouth falls as your gaze settles around the room. A broad window that made up the walls showcased the beauty of Seokyo from an almost birdseye view.

"Jesus Christ, what is it with this game and heights?" Chris whines, his character resting his hands on his knees. He slowly enters the room and collapses on the only bed in sight, making sure to stay as far away from the window as humanly possible.

You close the door behind you, venturing off to find another bed. You pass the bathroom. The small living room. "No. This can't be right," you mumble to yourself when you retrace your steps and find Chris lying in all of his cartoon character glory.

"There's only one bed," you state dismally, crossing your arms on your chest.

"Okay and? It's not like it's real life, we'll just share this one. I call dibs on the right half," Chris sits up, patting beside him on the left side.

"No, I get the right half," you argue, stepping toward him and pressing your hand on his shoulder to push him to the other side.

"But I already called dibs, Y/N," he says gruffly, picking you up and setting you on the left.

"Rock, paper, scissors for it?"

**v.**

"How come I don't know any of your fears?" Chris asks, panting.

He had just gone bungee jumping, per request (it was more like a demand) of Minho. Except rather than it being in a clear, safe environment, he had been tasked with doing it above the equivalent of a spiky ravine with wolves reaching out to chew a limb off. You watched from afar, laughing at his screams and the occasional, "I think I pissed myself!" or, "Tell my mom I love her!"

You shrug, "I'm not really scared of anything."

As he fumbles with the harness, he glances up at you with a look of disbelief. "Oh come on, everyone has a fear."

"Yeah, and mine is being with you," you joke.

"And mine is being with you," he mocks in a girly voice.

A laugh tickles your throat, but you push it down. Instead, you just watch as he nearly trips himself while stepping out of the harness. "Good job, pretty boy."

"Shut up, princess," he retaliates, glancing up at you with dark eyes as he drops his harness in the wooden crate full of them. You could almost hear someone familiar in those words, and your stomach felt light with butterflies.

"I will hunt you down in real life and kill you, don't test me, Christopher," you point at him accusingly.

He puts his hands up and defense. "Oh no, I'm so scared. What're you gonna do? Stop by my house and see Changbin and Jisung before slaughtering me?"

"What?" you ask.

"Oh no," he begins, making static noises with his mouth. "I think my internet's going out, I'll see you tomorrow, Y/N!"

_CB97 has left the game._

You fling your headset off, tossing it beside you. Your fingers find your face as you rub away any sense of dream, assuring yourself that you were indeed awake. It would be only a coincidence if he had mentioned Changbin. There are thousands of them in the world, right? But he said Changbin _and_ Jisung.

Could Chris be Chan? If he is, why didn't he say anything to you? And why would he let it go on?

"Hey, Siri," you say until your phone blinks to life. "Call Seo Changbin."

"Calling Seo Changbin," the robotic voice says monotonously.

"Yes, my favorite Y/N," he answers, a raspiness in his voice. He must have just woken up, regardless of the fact that it was five in the afternoon on a Sunday.

"Hey, do you know a Chris by any chance?" you ask, jumping straight to the point.

"Um, yes, why must you know?"

You begin telling him the story of _Risks_ and he interrupts you briefly, "Are you all riled up because you like Channie?"

"So it _is_ Chan!" you say, throwing your hands in the air. You thank Changbin for his time, hanging up without any further comments on either end. So that's why he got all tense when you told him your name. Bang Chan. CB97. Christopher Bang. Who needs that many aliases anyway?

You text Jisung, knowing he will suspect nothing of what you were about to ask. He texts back immediately, providing the information with absolutely zero resistance.

You wait patiently while the FaceTime request rings.

"Hello?" the boy answers, too close to the screen. It must run in the household.

"So, Bang Chan, when were you gonna tell me you knew I was your teammate?" you ask, running a hand through your hair as your hands begin to shake. You weren't sure why they were doing such, but you were sure Changbin was wrong with his idea. You didn't like Chan, and you couldn't see yourself liking him ever. Not even in your next life. The butterflies were simply just your nerves getting the best of you.

"Okay, hear me out," he begins, eyes crinkling and you could tell he was smiling. "I didn't want to make things awkward because I knew if you were aware that it was me that you would treat me different from CB97. When it's Chris, you pick on me and conversation flows perfectly. But when it's Chan, we just kind of hide behind Changbin. Do you feel me?"

Hesitantly, you nod. "Yeah, but if you had just told me, I'm sure I would have maintained the teasing."

"Well I didn't want to take the risk," Chan admits. Punny, isn't it?

"I respect it," you say. "But are you really afraid of heights?"

Chan sighs a deep and heavy breath. "Yes. I still wanna know what you're scared of."

"I'm sure you'll find out," you mumble. The words escape your lips with ease. Okay, maybe you were lying to yourself when you said you didn't like him whatsoever. You just weren't in love with him. Yet. Maybe.

**vi.**

Back in the game, the heights grew bigger and more dangerous. Chan became needier for comfort now that you openly said you wouldn't be awkward with him. The fact that he couldn't sense your sudden apprehension when he clutched your hand was nothing short of a miracle.

And your biggest fear was beginning to manifest itself into the game.

"What does your mission say?" Chan asks, a bored sigh escaping his lips.

"Mine just says to sleep," you say, tossing a Rubix cube into the air and catching it before beginning again.

"Same here. Maybe your fears only appear in your dreams or something," Chan shrugs. Yeah, we'll go with that.

Your heartbeat picks up in your chest as he settles into the bed beside you. On the right side. "Yeah," you agree.

The night develops into darkness and while the light snores of Chan fill the air, you can't find yourself anywhere close to a dreamland. Every time you got anywhere close, the idea of Chan's lips brushing against yours would force your eyes open.

You reach up to press your palms into your eyes as if to summon the Sandman from the crevices of your hands. A warm arm encases your body and pulls you close. You flinch, dropping your hands and coming inches between Chan's face, which seemed way too close for comfort. Even if this was a simulation, your heart was pounding so loud you were beginning to think Chan's character could hear it.

You glanced down at his lips, which were barely parted and animated in the most realistic way possible. It was almost as if this weren't fake. You leaned forward a little and you were so close you thought you could see his little puffs of air. Then, you realize how weird this is and try to move back. But of course, Chan just has to tighten his grip and pull you even closer. Except this time, your lips nearly slam into his by the sudden movement.

Beneath your breath, you curse. Because fucking Bang Chan has to be a fucking pain in the ass. Carefully, you slide down so your face is closer to his chest than his alluring lips.

Despite the slightly uncomfortable position, you grew used to the rise and fall of his chest against your ear. It didn't lull you to sleep, but it gave you a different thing to listen to other than Chan's inconsistent snores.

The sun came faster than you thought it would and the top right of your screen read a new task.

_Go to the store with Chan._

Just as the mission began to fade into a lighter color, Chan began to stir in his sleep. He hugged you closer as if that was even possible.

"Chan," you whisper, gazing up at him. "Can you let go of me, please?"

He groans, throwing a leg over your body. He's such a baby.

"Christopher Bang, if you do not get off of me right now I will walk to your dorm and kick you in that perfect face of yours," you threaten. Of course, not thinking about what just came out of your mouth.

His eyes shoot open and a smirk crosses his lips. He leans in close to your face and you can almost feel his eyelashes on your skin. "You think I have a perfect face?"

You hope he can't see the slight blush kissing your cheeks. "Pfft. No. You're annoying."

He rolls over until he's laying on top of you. You groan in pain. "Get off of me! Hippo!" you manage to shout although your intestines were being crushed.

"C'mon, admit it," he whispers in your ear.

You hold your breath unwillingly as it hitches in your throat. He pushes himself up and you think about his arms beside you. Muscle and all.

"Don't make me do it," he warns as he turns his head, yet still maintaining intimidating eye contact.

"Do what?" you ask, testing your chances.

He leans closer, his nose touching yours now. His lips part and you think he's about to kiss you but then... _boop_.

He kissed your cheek. "Admit it," he said. His voice wasn't that deep earlier, was it?

Your cheeks were already burning as is, but the thought that he could amp it up at all made your body feel numb. You huff, "Fine. You're not the ugliest person I've ever met."

Finally, he pushes himself up from bed and advances to the bathroom. Halfway there, he stops, glances over his shoulder and shoots a fast wink. You play it off by rolling your eyes but as soon as the bathroom door closes, you bury your face into the pillows of the bed. If you keep reminding yourself that it wasn't real, maybe you could prevent your heart from being tied into a knot so tight you can't undo it.

**vii.**

The grocery store you had been sent to was packed with people. Odd for a Tuesday morning in a video game, but nonetheless.

The green line led you to the back of the store, where the frozen foods were. You laugh, "Don't tell me you have a fear of frozen foods."

Chan scoffs, "Of course not. Do you?"

"No, sir," you say, crossing your heart with your forefinger.

As you approach the eggs, the green line fizzes out and you're left with nothing but a confused Chan beside you. "Well," he begins, "what now?"

"I'm not sure," you put your hands on your hips. While trying to brainstorm a conclusion to this mystery, you notice the watch glimmering on your wrist.

You tap it twice. Nothing happens and a glowing Minho did not fall before you. So you tap it one more time. Still nothing.

"In here," a muffled voice calls out. You spin around on your heels, trying to suppress a laugh that failed to submerge itself. Sitting between the racks of milk was Minho in a painfully uncomfortable position.

"Do you need a hint or what?" he asks, irritation tinging his voice.

"Uh, yeah, a hint would be nice. Why are we here?"

"It's time to face your fears, Y/N. Just have fun," Minho says, a final wink in his appearance before disappearing into dust.

"So you do have a fear of grocery stores!" Chan giggles. But you couldn't move your body, let alone your facial features. This couldn't be happening. Your fear couldn't possibly be rising right now. Especially after what Chan did this morning.

"Hello?" he waves a hand in front of your absentminded face.

"Yeah, okay, I'm scared of ruining a perfectly good place," you admit, but not really. It was really just to cover your tracks, but Mr. I'm Scared Of Heights didn't know that. Okay, maybe you were a bad liar.

"That's not true. I can see right through you," he says, picking up a carton of eggs gingerly. He pops open the lid, filling his hands with as many eggs as he could handle before tossing the carton holding the remaining eggs toward you. You flinch, somehow accomplishing to catch it and not shatter any of the eggs inside.

"What am I supposed to do with these?" you ask, glancing down at the eggs as if they were alien babies.

He smiles at you, bringing his hand up and waving you out of the way. You oblige, eyebrows knitted in confusion.

His eyes fall to the two eggs in one hand before looking at the innocent NPCs shopping. A smirk twitches his lips, and he powers up a throw. One of the eggs misses miserably, falling to the floor with an unenthusiastic splat. The other, however, lands square in the back of an elderly woman's head.

She twists her head around slowly, looking angrily at the young boy walking behind her while a hand travels to the yolk dripping out of her hair. She pulls her cane out from her cart and smacks the boy's knee before returning to her shopping excursion.

He sputters in agony, yelling in an incoherent language that sounded almost similar to Simlish.

"Chan!" you scold, trying your hardest not to laugh. On the contrary, he was roaring with laughter. Every now and then, his eyes would fall shut and he would try to return to seriousness, but to no avail.

"Come on," he says through a now semi-calm chuckle. "Your turn."

"Hell no." You walk towards him, returning the carton and the eggs within it. He allows you to set it down where he had originally obtained it from.

"Please," he whines, pushing his bottom lip out innocently and widening his eyes like a puppy. He holds an egg up in front of your face.

But you had gone through with falling victim to peer pressure already once in your life. You shake your head, setting off to retrace your steps to exit the market.

An arm pulls you back by the waist.

A yelp flees your mouth and you begin pounding on Chan's arm with yours. With his free hand, he grabs your right hand, forcing the egg into your palm. When you try to open your hand, he squeezes you tighter and you begin giggling.

"I'm not letting you go until you throw that egg, Y/N," he mumbles. You picture him in his room, a teasing smile resting on his lips. And then your mind wanders and you think about your lips on his.

Virtual reality is a strange thing. It's all fake, yet with his hand around your character's waist, you feel a sense of warmth in real life. So much even, that it transcends through your skin and your insides feel fuzzy.

You huff, "Fine."

Although, he doesn't let go. Though, at first, you didn't complain. In fact, you wanted to stay like that until the end of time. With Chan's arms around your waist and his head resting calmly on your shoulder.

"Are you going to let go?" you inquire.

Instantly, Chan releases his grip, mumbling, "Right. Yeah. Of course."

You smile down at your character's knock off Converse before glancing around the store. Regardless of your promise, you weren't so sure you could just chuck an egg at an innocent bystander, even if they were just a robot coded into the game for no important reason other than to be a placeholder for missions.

As if an angel had descended upon you from the heavens above, you heard an outside voice through Chan's headset.

"I'm kinda busy, Sungie," Chan said. You looked back at his character and you could see a light blush dusting his cheeks.

"Why are you all blushy? Are you talking with-" Jisung teases with that tone in his voice that was just _so_ Jisung. He gets cut off by only what you can assume is Chan lobbing the headset at him, based off of the loud thud you heard. Then, at the bottom of your screen: _CB97 has left the game._ _Because this is a dual-player game, your current progress will be saved and you will be forced to wait until your partner returns._

A barely audible laugh arises from your throat, and to an outsider, it sounded more like a scoff. You pull the headset off of your head, shaking your hair out and finally letting it break free from the confined enclosure. Gently setting the headset on the ground, you hold your phone close to your chest, somewhat expecting a text from either Chan, apologizing on Jisung's behalf or from Jisung, giving an apology he was forced to deliver from Chan.

Instead, nothing came. So you just lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling and reliving the events of the previous hours. You smiled each time you recalled Chan's hand on your waist and you got so embarrassed you had to hide your face in your pillow, even though no one was there to watch you.

Your phone vibrates against your chest and your heart flutters. Immediately, Chan's golden smile crosses your mind. With a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, you glimpse down at the screen. As you identify the sender of the message, you sigh. It would be a lie to say you weren't disappointed, but nonetheless, you take Jihyo's message about her forgetting her dorm key into account.

Now that there was a sudden need for responsibility, sleep hid within the comforter and attempted to strangle you in a peaceful cocoon. You shake your head, bringing a hand to your cheek and slapping yourself into alert consciousness.

Your phone buzzes again. Assuming it was just Jihyo again, you glance with little enthusiasm. No butterflies in your chest.

You read the text first. _When I threw my headset at Jisung, I think I broke it. RIP Risks :(_

Oh. It was Chan. And then the love bug constricts your heart in all shapes and forms.

A soft knock comes from the door and you slowly sit up, tearing yourself from the comfort of your bed. Since it was just Jihyo, you stumbled to the door and didn't bother to try not to fall over. You only tripped twice. A world record compared to the previous five.

As the door is opening, you begin, "Hey, Ji-." You pause when you see the face. "sung?"

"Hi, Y/N," he pushes past you, allowing entry for himself. Just like he always does.

"Can I help you?" you inquire, slowly shutting the door behind you as your eyebrows jump in questioning.

He glances up at you as if you were invading his free time. He shook his head. "No."

"Well," he interjects, falling upon the pink bean bag beside Jihyo's bed. "Kind of."

When he doesn't continue, you find your arms crossing your chest with slight irritation. "And?"

A devious smirk plays at his lips, and all of a sudden you feel unsettled. Like he's about to whip a knife out of thin air and stab you to death right there.

"Do you like Chan?" he bluntly asks, tugging at his bottom lip with his teeth.

Your ribcage shattered from the reaction of your heart pounding against it. "What? No. That's gross," you scoff, although your cheeks were growing hot and tears were beginning to prick at your eyes.

Jisung hums at your response in delight and his smirk transitions to a satisfied smile. His tongue prods at his cheek as he tries to fight the obviousness of why he was here.

"Okay. Can you do me a favor then?"

"I do favors for you every time you see me. It's almost as if-"

He interrupts, "Just answer the goddamn question."

A sigh yelling that you want to return to your dorm without the burden of Jisung in it escapes your parted lips. "Fine."

"Meet Changbin at the library in like," he pauses, glancing at the time displayed on his phone, "two hours."

"Why?"

"Oh, would you look at the time? I need to get to my mom's house for dinner!" he exclaims, jumping up from the beanbag and excusing himself.

"Your mom lives across the country!" you call out, but the door is already closed by the time you finish.

**viii.**

It was a cold, mid-January night and you had forgotten your heavy coat at home. You wandered the streets of Seoul in a barely thick enough hoodie. Every now and then, you would shove your hands deep into the front pockets of your jeans and hope to generate enough heat to get you by. 

Your phone begins vibrating angrily from the kangaroo pouch of your hoodie. A sigh escapes your lips as you answer the call and press the oddly warm phone to your ear.

"Yes?"

"Where are you? I'm outside your dorm," Changbin's voice breaks through the static of the call.

"Jisung told me to meet you at the library," you halt in your tracks, glancing around as if to summon someone from the void.

There's shuffling on the other end and you hear a car door close before Changbin speaks up again, "What street are you on?"

You glance up, past the suburban houses and to the end of the street. You have to squint to make it out. "Mugyo-ro," you look to any identifying surroundings. "By the Starbucks and 7-Eleven."

"Fucking Jisung," he curses under his breath. He tells you to stay where you are and that he'd be there within the next three minutes.

As the tens of people pass you just standing in the middle of the sidewalk, you began to feel more and more awkward. You pray in your mind that Changbin would magically arrive quicker without speeding or crashing. Wait a minute, since when did Changbin even have a car?

Finally, a particularly nice car that you recall seeing in the Seo's driveway pulls up to the side of the road and the deeply tinted windows roll down. Changbin leans into the passenger's seat so you can see him. "Let's go, I got something planned."

You slip into the seat beside his, immensely grateful that he had the heat all the way up.

Soft, lyrical rap was humming through the car and although the volume was low, you could feel the melodic bass beneath your feet. Your hands begin to shake slightly in your lap for no reason other than the silence that didn't sit well.

"So why have I been kidnapped on this fine evening?" you ask, your voice nearly cracking at the beginning. The nervousness had gotten to you, yet you weren't even sure why you felt this way.

Changbin ran a quick hand through his hair before returning his hand to the wheel. He turns into the library parking lot. An unsure sigh leaves his lips and his eyes shoot to the clock on his dash.

"Don't worry about it, Y/N."

You huff, relaxing your shoulders and leaning back into the way too comfy leather seats.

"Can you do me a favor?" he asks as he pulls into a parking spot and shifts his car into park.

"Um, I guess so?"

He reaches behind you, resting his hand on the shoulder of your seat before pulling a book up from the floor.

"Go turn this in for me," Changbin orders, dropping the book in your lap.

"And why can't you do that?" you say, face contorting into a subtle disgust as you look over at him.

"I have to call my mom," he sticks his bottom lip out gently, knowing all too well that you'd fall for it.

"You owe me one," you mutter, unbuckling your seatbelt and dismissing yourself from the car.

As you advance towards the entrance of the library, you glance back at Changbin. Through the windshield, you can see his phone pressed to his ear and his mouth is moving.

A wave of warmth slaps you in the face as the scent of old books invades your sense of smell. Your phone vibrates in your pocket and you sigh as you dig it out.

**_Changbin: Hey, I think I left a bookmark in that book. Can you check for me?_ **

Your pace slows as you flip through the book. A slip of folded notebook paper falls to the floor. Squatting to pick it up, you slowly unfold it. In Changbin's messy, scribbled handwriting, it read:

 _Turn the book in. Now go to the library garden._ _Good luck!_

Your eyebrows knit in confusion. You glance over your shoulder with wonder in your eyes. When your eyes fall on the now empty parking spot, you glare and curse Changbin's name under your breath.

The book drop was at the very entrance by the reference desk. On the other side of the library, by the children's section, was the garden. Your steps were short, anxious, and the progressively dimming lights of the library were not helping. Nor was the fact that it was nearly empty.

You push the heavy door to the garden with hesitance coursing through your veins like your body was a Mario Kart course. So far, uneasiness was in first as Bowser.

Winter air bit at your cheeks as you enter the small, quaint area. Your eyes jump to the fairy lights adorning the sky. It looked like the universe was extremely zoomed and was within touching distance.

"Hi," a voice breaks into your moment of awe.

Peach grasped first place as flutters fly around your heart.

"Hey, Chan," you smile. His hands were behind his back and he was rocking back and forth on his heels. He looked nervous. And then you realized, this was oddly romantic. And why exactly were you here?

"Um, so I know this is like," he brings his forefinger and thumb to his nose bridge and pinching it. "kind of weird, but, uh-"

"Are you about to confess your lifelong love for me?" you teasingly question, saving him from the awkwardness.

His hands fall to his side, exposing the bouquet he was holding behind his back. "Did Jisung snitch? I'm gonna fucking kill him."

"Just a wild guess," you laugh. You were lucky the air was freezing because you could tell your cheeks were flaming red.

He stands there for a second, lips slightly parted with a cloud leaving them every so often. You think back to the game, where he had fallen asleep with you in his arms.

"I know this is odd ti-" he begins.

"I like you too," you say at the same time, unintentionally interrupting him.

"You sure do like cutting into my sentences, huh?" he laughs and it sounds like music to your ears. The most beautiful orchestra to ever make any sound.

He takes a step towards you, the bouquet held close to his chest with both hands. He pushes it toward you, the bulbs of the flowers right in front of your nose as the plastic wrap tickles your cheek. "Here," he shakes the collection of white carnations in your face, sending the smell of fresh flowers through the air.

You reach up, taking the flowers and holding them to your heart. "Thank you," you grin.

"Okay, now can we please go somewhere warm? I've been waiting out here for like an hour and I think I caught pneumonia."

**ix.**

"Why'd you confess right then, at that moment?" you ask, reminiscing the events of last week.

Chan laughs, tugging the covers up over his and your legs. He returned his arm to your waist. "Do you want the real story or the coverup?"

"Well, first of all, why even is there a coverup? And to answer your question, gimme both," you twist in his arms so you're facing him.

Chan sits up slightly and squints at the door. You look over your shoulder to see an eye peeking through the crack.

"Fuck off, Jisung," Chan shouts, picking up the already broken VR headset and chucking it at the door.

"No sex while I'm here, ya hear me?" he screams back, his voice transitioning into a muffled noise as he begins walking back to his room.

Chan glances back to you, relaxing. "Where were we?"

"Confession and coverup," you summarize.

"Oh, right. So, after Jisung rudely interrupted our gaming experience, Changbin was all like, 'what's the commotion' and Jisung was like 'he's in love with Y/N.' And then Changbin scoffed and was like, 'bold of you to assume she'd show any affection back' so Jisung and I were like big question mark," he begins. You didn't realize he told stories like a teenage white girl until then.

"Changbin told me you were pretty much scared of love and then it clicked. So Jisung ran all the way to your dorm for an experiment. He pulled the library thing out of his ass, by the way. None of us knew he was going to do that. And I certainly wasn't prepared. Nearly had a heart attack."

"Fucking Jisung," you laugh.

"Yes, fucking Han Jisung."

"And what about the coverup story?"

"Oh, Jisung told me that if you ever asked why I confessed to just say that I had known ever since we first started playing, but we all know that would be a lie. I only kind of knew a couple of hours before Jisung went to your dorm," Chan smiles, pressing his lips to yours shortly.

You pull away first, a question invading your thoughts. "Wait, when did you know I started liking you?"

He does the smile you do when you're not supposed to be aware of something, but you are. "Y'know that time we were sleeping and I threw my arm over you?"

You gasp, "Do not tell me you were awake."

A mischievous smile danced on his lips. "But then I would be lying to the prettiest girl in the world."

You punch at his chest. "You suck!"

"But you love me," he swoons, dragging you closer to his body.

"You're fucking lucky I do."


	2. 19 - Han Jisung

synopsis: when you turn nineteen, the first words your soulmate says to you appear on your wrist. you all know that tiktok trend.  
word count: 6.8k

i. 

You gawk at the blank canvas of your wrist. Soon, words would fill the skin and thus seal your fate. 

It's common folklore that in the early ages, two Greek Gods by the names of Aphrodite and Ares were sent to Earth. They traveled the land until they came across two mortals. An old married couple living on a farm just outside of today's Patras. Aphrodite was known for enticing people into conversations with her beauty. Over time, the topic drifted to the pair's longlasting marriage as Aphrodite airily asked, "How did you know you were meant to be?" 

The elderly duo shared a look attended by small smiles. The man spoke, "We don't truly know, but the feelings in our hearts lead us to believe we are." 

Aphrodite was shocked. Something as pure and sacred as love was being tossed around by the mortal world. So, she looked at her husband and ordered him to contact his parents (who were widely seen as the monarchs of the Olympians). After a long argument, Ares managed to pull through. He had convinced his mother, Hera, to pull some strings. From that moment forward, mortals' wrists would be tainted with the first words that their loved ones say to them, but only after the mortal reaches the legal age. 

However, this deal would only happen under one condition. Wars and violence would become common among the mortals to counteract the joy that comes with easily finding a lover. Ares took this feat with joy. He made his wife happy while simultaneously becoming the god of war. 

Or at least that's what we think happened. 

"Y/N? You in there?" the boy across the table waves a hand in front of your face. 

Glancing up, you offer a meek smile. "Yeah. Sorry." 

"Are you thinking about the words again?" he asks, leaning forward. 

He rests his forearms against the cafe's table for a moment before reaching out for your hands. For a moment he just holds them. But then he brings them to his lips and kisses your knuckles. In a low voice, he states assertively, "We're in this for the long haul, babe. It's you and I 'til the end. Remember?" 

You smile, butterflies clashing against the caves of your stomach. "Of course. Y/N and Hyunjin until the very end." 

You retract your hands to bring the straw to your lips. The boy ahead of you simply watches your motions with heart eyes. When he had turned nineteen, he refused to look at the words. He wanted to wait for you. And now, a little less than two weeks separate you from the ultimate conclusion. Even though he was confident you were the one, thoughts at the back of your mind nag the dreaded possibility.

You look over to the road beside the cafe. Through the window, a teenage girl walks her small dog. Beyond that, a traffic jam sheathes the road with cars. 

"Hey, um, Changbin and I were thinking about throwing a party for your birthday. Are you up for that?" Hyunjin slips his phone out of his pocket. 

As he's unlocking it, you reply, "Yeah that sounds fun. Who all are you going to invite?" 

"The boys and whichever friends you want me to," he pushes his phone towards you. It's displaying an empty note page. He continues, "Just put whoever you want." 

You adjust the device in your palms before typing out the list of friends you wanted to celebrate with. Kijeong never fails to serve for a good party. Doyoung has connections to getting expensive alcohol. Momo always brings Japanese candies. And so on. 

When you slide the phone across the matte tablecloth, Hyunjin marvels at the list. "How do you know this many people?" 

"There's only like ten people," you giggle. Then, you tap your finger on your chin and ask, "Don't you know over a hundred?" 

As if you had hit a soft spot, he winces back dramatically. "No! It's more like eighty-nine." 

A giggle bubbles up from your core and you feel at peace. For once, you weren't stressing over those stupid words. Hyunjin has that effect on you. He could probably distract you from WWIII if it ever happened. And for that, he has to be your soulmate. He just has to. 

ii.

Hyunjin had gone out of town on a school trip, leaving you in Seoul with nothing to do but sit around and read heartfelt testimonies of others' first words. One had mentioned that the couple had been dating for barely a week before the words appeared. And then, when they found out that they were dating their soulmate, they got married spontaneously in Las Vegas. Like from a rom-com. 

You wanted to be the main character of a rom-com too. 

A knock sounded from the other side of your door. Quickly closing the tab and opening your homework, you shout, "Come in!" 

Your mother peaks her head in with a drastic bright smile. "Hey there, sweet thang." 

"Hi, mom," you chuckle at her goofiness. She enters the room with your dog, Fluffy, trailing close behind. 

"I just came in here to talk about the whole nineteen shebang," she sighs, folding her leg under her as she takes a seat at the foot of your bed. 

You sit up, adjusting your pillow behind your back. Her smile fades as she begins, slightly hesitant, "Do you have a plan for if it's not Hyunjin?" 

"What?" your eyebrows twist. You pick at the corner of your laptop with your nails. 

"I'm not saying that he won't be, but have you considered all the outcomes?" 

"No, but I don't have to. I know it's him," you shake your head. And suddenly, the doubts come flooding in again. A lot of the stories you've read show a common denominator. A couple that has been dating for a while becoming heartbroken when they've realized what they felt wasn't true love. 

Your mother presses her lips into a fine line before glancing down at Fluffy for reassurance. He stares up at her with a smile, tongue hanging from his mouth carelessly. As she releases a heavy breath that seemed to weigh down the rest of the room, she announces, "Whatever happens, just know me and your dad will always be here for you. We love you, Y/N." 

Tears begin to pool in your eyes. Stumbling over your words you manage to push out, "I-I love you too, Mom." 

Patting the bed, she pushes herself up. "Then I'll leave you to it. Do you want me to take Fluffy?" 

You shake your head, "No, leave him here." 

She gently sets the Pomsky on your bed. You open your arms to the dog and he barrels towards you. Your mother closes the door on the way out, leaving you alone with the heartbreaking thoughts and a dog to cry into. 

Fresh tears fall onto the dog's fur and he curiously looks up at you. He cocks his head to the side and whimpers. In an attempt to stop the mysterious liquid, he licks at your cheeks. 

"Fluffy," you sob with an unstable voice as you hug him tightly. "what am I gonna do?" 

Outside the door, your mother stands. A hand is covering her mouth to muffle the cries of her own. The buildup of your childhood is reaching a standstill in a week's time. You would be free to make your own decisions and what would your mother have left to do? It was time for you to leave her shelter. 

Quivering, your mother lets her hand fall to her side. She has to be strong for you right now. One of your biggest moments is approaching. Sadness cannot deter her support. Although tears are still slipping from her eyes, she straightens her posture and advances down the hall. 

iii.

Kijeong sits at your mirror with a glow in her eyes. It had been months since she had gone to a good, unforgettable party. The goosebumps trailing down her legs are a sign it's going to be good, she claims. 

But you think it's because your dad cranked the AC up. 

"Wear the skirt and the sweater," Kijeong advises. She brings her Starbucks to her mouth, contorting her lips in a funky way so that she doesn't ruin her red lipstick. 

You glance down at the outfit she had chosen. It's a fuzzy lavender sweater and a high-waisted black skirt. 

"It's cold outside," you protest, looking back at her. 

She looks at you as if you've dethroned Beyonce and put Kanye in her place. "Is the party outside? No. Put the outfit on. We're gonna be late." 

"Fine, dear party master," you mumble. 

You retreat to the bathroom to change. As you're tugging the sweater over your body, you look in the mirror. Huffing, you stomp back to your room. "I look like a psycho Furby that just escaped the asylum." 

Kijeong rolls her eyes as she stands from the comfort cave of your bed. She advances to you, tucking your sweater in. "Now you look like a Furby hooker who I'd gladly fuck given the chance." 

"My legs feel naked," you cross your legs and ball your fists to hold the skirt down. 

"Then put on some fishnets," Kijeong rummages through your closet. She huffs, blindly sweeping her hand on the overhead shelf. Humming in content, she tosses the leggings at you. 

You can't win with the party girl. 

Barely ten minutes later, you're stepping out of your house with your mother hanging in the door frame. "Be careful. Text me as soon as you find out!" 

"Of course," you shout back at her reassuringly as you're climbing into the passenger seat of Kijeong's black Toyota Corolla. 

Upon startup, the radio is blaring rap music in a language you're unfamiliar with. She bumps her head to the beat as she pulls onto the road. You stare down at the wallpaper of your phone. It's a photo of you and Hyunjin on your first date to the movie theaters. His head is on your shoulder and his hand is squeezing your cheeks. He looks up at you with those loving eyes and a simper. 

Rolling down the volume, Kijeong glances over at you. She nibbles on the inside of her cheek before saying, "I know this is stressful for you, but just live through tonight as if we were partying under normal circumstances. It sounds like shitty advice, but trust me." 

Though your shoulders are still weighed down with stress, you smile. "Thanks, Ki."

"I'll stick around you for the whole night if you need me to. And that's saying a lot. Doyoung's bringing wine from the Iberian peninsula and I want that shit," she lightens the mood. 

You stifle a laugh. "I can handle it. You go drink that expensive shit." 

Kijeong maintains the glimmer of a smile on her lips until she pulls up to Changbin's house. It wasn't necessarily a mansion, Changbin always claimed. In the flesh, however, the truth unveiled a different story. 

"Holy shit," you marvel, looking up at the intricately carved pillars. 

At the front door, Hyunjin is there to welcome you. He holds a red solo cup as he's welcoming you with a hug. When you finally pull away, he offers it to you. 

"What is it?" you inquire. 

"Some kind of fancy wine Doyoung brought," he informs, peeking into the cup as if to examine the dark liquid. 

Kijeong snatches it from his hand. She downs it before either of you can react. 

"That's good shit," she coughs, "Where's Doyoung?" Her eyes are wide, like a crazed killer feeling the first euphoria of killing. 

Still taken aback, Hyunjin slowly gestures over his shoulder. "He's in the ki-"

But it's too late. She's already on the hunt. 

Shaking his head in utter awe, he refocuses back to you. "So, how does it feel?" 

You coerce a somewhat genuine smile to rest on your lips as you say, "I'm not sure. I guess I'm just feeling nostalgic?" 

Hyunjin nods along to your carefully chosen words. To make you feel better, he leans to your ear and whispers, "That's the thrill of becoming an adult, darling." 

One of Hyunjin's friends (Seungmin, you think his name was) lunges into Hyunjin, knocking him back from you. "Bro, Jeongin's about to do a fucking keg stand. You've got to see this," he shouts, guiding Hyunjin to the backyard. 

Over his shoulder, Hyunjin yells, "Duty calls." 

You slowly walk around, taking in the monumental views of parties. People making out on the couch. A girl twerking on the wall. And even someone puking behind the couch. 

The humidity of the living room suffocates you. And despite the sea of people wading in your personal space, you have never felt so lonely. The promise ring Hyunjin had bought you strangles your finger almost as much as it was mentally suffocating you. 

Your breaths become ragged as people block your view on every side. Desperately, you push through. Beads of sweat congregate in the threads of your fishnets. 

A flash of fresh air slaps you across the face as you finally break through. Ahead of you, the back door is ajar. You can spot Hyunjin cheering on a group of people playing cup pong. That Jeongin kid must've finished his keg stand. Or chickened out. He catches your stare. He sends a smile before leaning in to the game to say something. And then, he's walking towards you. 

No. You can't face him right now. 

Quickly, you fade into the hallway. Glancing into the cracks of each door, you eventually find solace in the bathroom. You lock the door behind you before rushing to the toilet. The anxiety caught up with you and your lunch is now sitting in the toilet. Splashes of yellow cling to the bowl as you flush.

Still shaking, you approach the sink. You rinse the suds off of your hands before splashing your face with the cool water. Rejuvenated, you dry off your hands. Droplets of water fall from your face. You pull your sweater up, using the hairy fabric to lessen the moisture. 

Though fresh, you still can't build the courage to reemerge into the pool of bodies. 

You glance down at your phone. 11:19. Only forty-one minutes separate you. 

You could camp in the bathroom until then. It's a safe haven. 

For the remaining time, you sit by the toilet just in case. When there's only one minute left, you roll up your sleeve and stare at the empty skin. 

As the clock strikes midnight, your wrist aches. You wince, gazing down. Beneath your skin, what feels like fire ants work together to ink the words letter by letter. 

Your heart hangs in your throat. The world stops spinning and you're just sitting there, staring at your arm. The door shakes as someone knocks from the other side. 

"Y/N? You in there?" Hyunjin's voice sounds through, though muffled. 

So this is what those testimonials meant when they said you undergo an out of body experience. It doesn't feel like you're in control when you slowly rise and go to the door. You open it, still gawking at the words. 

"Happy birthday! What does it say?" Hyunjin reaches for your arm with a bright, hopeful smile. 

It vanishes when he reads the words. His voice cracks as he reads them aloud, "Brighten the mood, sunshine?"

"I-I'm sorry," you sob, snagging your arm back to bury your face in your hands. 

Through teary eyes of his own, Hyunjin shakes his head. "No. Y/N, we love each other." He reaches for your shoulders, but you step back, arms dropping to your sides. 

"We're not each others' soulmates," you look up at him. 

"They're wrong! They have to be!" he shouts. 

You know what's going on in that head of his. There was no use arguing with him. 

You slide the ring off of your finger. Slowly, you inch forward to him. You grab his hand, resting the ring in his palm. Then, you curl his fingers up, protecting the ring from the evils of the world. 

"I'm sorry." 

iv. 

You tug your knees to your chest. The empty car isolates you from the flashing lights and booming music from inside the party. All you can seem to do is cry. When the tears let up, you glance down at your wrist and they appear again, stronger than before. 

Something comforting rested in those words, though. 

A hollow knock from your right trains your focus away. Outside the window, a few boys hover. 

"We're Hyunjin's friends," the taller of the bunch shouts, though it reaches you muffled. Standing there is a boy you had crossed paths with a multitude of times before. Seungmin, his name was. From earlier. 

You inch away from them quickly. You're practically sitting on the middle console. 

"Wait, we're not gonna hurt you. We just want to talk. Jin's taking it pretty hard, and I was sure-" Seungmin reassures, though is interrupted by an elbow to the ribs. 

"We were sure," a shorter boy corrects. His face looked familiar, though the strange depth of his voice proved otherwise. 

"Right, we were sure you were feeling in the dumps too. Can you open the door so I don't have to keep yelling?" Seungmin offers a small smile as he mends to his ribs with rubbing circles. 

Hesitantly, you unlock the door and weakly step out. Your knees almost buckle beneath your weight, but you lean against the car for support. 

"So," a different boy speaks with a slight slur, "I'm Jeongin." 

"Felix," the boy with the deep voice introduces with a small wave. 

Seungmin leans against the car with you. The soles of his feet ache from standing around and rushing people to not disrobe in the living room. Glancing down at his shoes, Seungmin asks with a pitch in his voice, "So, uh, what does it say?" 

"Brighten the mood, sunshine," you recite with clarity, though you're choking on tears at the back of your throat. Or puke. You're not quite sure. 

"Y'know who would say that?" Jeongin drunkenly laughs, grabbing everyone's attention. 

"Not the time-"

"Jisung would say that shit," he declares, despite Felix's warning glare. 

Wrapping a protective arm around your shoulder, Seungmin whispers, "I'm sorry about him, this was his first party and he got a little carried away with the drinking." 

You shake your head. Seungmin's cologne reminds you of Hyunjin's. Soft but masculine. Woodsy, almost. "It's fine." 

"Happy birthday, by the way," he says. 

You chuckle for a second. "Happy?" 

"I'm not too good with this whole heartbreak thing, but I know this whole thing will blow over. It'll hurt, but in the terms of the universe, this heartbreak is setting you up for finding your soulmate," Felix says. 

"The universe is bullshit," you scoff. 

"Brighten the mood, sunshine," a boy calls out from the gate of the house. His arms are crossed against his chest and he's onlooking the scene with narrowed eyes. 

Your heart is doing a frenzy within the cage of your chest. Playing it off as if you and the boys around you don't know what just happened, you warily shout back, "Suck my dick, mister sunshine." 

He jumps back, his own heart caught in his throat. His arms fall to the side and he stares. Mouth fallen agape, he slowly lifts a finger and points at you. 

He lets it drop, a smile filled with bewilderment filling his lips. "Hyunjin's gonna kill me." 

v. 

His name is Jisung and he had been indebted with running to Hyunjin's car to get something when he overheard your conversation. He knew you had no control over it, but he just wanted to be petty for the sake of sparking drama. It was a bad habit, he admitted later on in an apology email he had sent to your student account. 

It's been a week since your birthday. Passing Hyunjin in the hallway never takes an off day to open the pit in your stomach. But the butterflies had disappeared the moment you met Jisung. And you fucking hated it. The memories with Hyunjin were too fond for you to succumb to falling in love with Jisung. 

"Hey, Y/N," he skips next to you on your way to your final class of the day. 

"What do you want?" you stop by your locker. You twist and turn until the lock unlatches. 

As you're shoving your books in, he presses his shoulder to the locker beside you and leans close to you. "Am I not allowed to talk to my one and only?" 

"Not here, okay?" you huff, slamming your locker shut. You poise your strut with confidence despite the jelly of your legs. 

"Can I at least get your number?" he jogs to catch up with you. 

"Only if you can convince Hyunjin to talk to me," you abruptly stop. 

"What? Why?"

Above, the bell screeches its monotonous tune. 

Nibbling on your lip nervously, you say, "Because I don't want him to hear about it around school or something." 

"Why can't I just talk to him?" Jisung asks, eyebrows knitted in confusion. 

Sighing, you mumble, "I don't wanna ruin your friendship with him." 

Jisung's hearty laugh echoes in the empty hall. He grabs your hands, slightly swinging them as he declares, "We'll do it together." 

"Go to class," an elderly teacher croaks from the doorway of her empty classroom. 

"Meet me after school by the cafeteria," he nods before pressing a surprisingly warm kiss to your forehead. 

You sit in eighth period with a permanent smile. Rather than participating in the sociology project, you stare at your palms. They still had his warmth. 

Love had a peculiar way of operating. And maybe Jisung wasn't so bad. 

"Good day?" Kijeong inquires, her gaze not slipping from her laptop. 

You press your palms to the desk as if they held a secret only you could know. As your sight falls over to her, your face burns with heat. 

She glances over. Seeing the lovestruck grin sitting confidently on your lips, she gasps. "You didn't-"

"I found him," you shrug casually as if fate had only given you $10 on a scratch-off ticket. 

"When?" she grabs your shoulders, shaking you violently. 

"Last week. At the party," you cup your head as you prop your arm on the desk. 

"And you didn't tell me? Who is he?" her questions fly at you with high velocity and her volume grabs the attention of the people in front of you. They congratulate you with broad smiles before redirecting their focus. 

You lean over to her, braving for her bullying spree as you whisper, "Han Jisung." 

"The squirrel looking dude? Wait, isn't he friends with Hyunjin?" 

Smile slipping from your features, you nod. "We're gonna talk to him today. I still feel so bad." 

"Don't be. He's entitled to his feelings and you're entitled to yours. He can be hurt, but he'll have no right to hate you and Jisung for it. And if he does, it'll only be momentarily," Kijeong says, her voice trailing into one similar to her mother's. Wise and pristine. 

The stability and confidence in her words spark those own feelings within you. You straighten your posture as you assert, "Yeah. You're right." 

vi. 

Waiting alone in the cafeteria serves for awkward conversations sparked by the lunch ladies and dirty glares from Hyunjin's fangirls. The whispers fail to bother you as Jisung approaches you with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. The butt of his baseball bat peeks out from the zipper. 

"Ready?" he breathily says, securing the bag with a tight grip. 

"Yeah," you nod, following him as he leads you through the hallways. The walls were painted by the first class. Murals, the principal had announced at freshman orientation. They tell stories, but they usually go overlooked. 

As you emerge into the empty half of the parking lot, Jisung reaches back for your hand. 

"Where are we going?" you ask to deter your focus from the comfort of his touch. 

A glimmer of something that ignites butterflies in your stomach flashes in his eyes as he glances at you over his shoulder. "Going to meet Hyunjin." 

Up ahead, you see Hyunjin sitting anticipatingly in his car. His elbow is propped on the door, holding his head as he stares down at his phone. You watch from a distance as he brings the pad of his thumb to rub bits of dry skin flaking from his lip. 

You wiggle your hand out of his grip. He stops, turning around to look at you. "I don't wanna hurt him like that," you admit. 

"Like what?" 

"Like this," you say, motioning to the both of you. 

"Oh. Right," Jisung smiles meekly, swiveling around to pursue the upcoming conflict. 

You can do this, Y/N. You have to. 'Cos if you don't, it'll hurt him more. 

"Hey, bro," Jisung claps against the top of the car. 

Jumping, Hyunjin looks up. His eyes are puffy and the bags under his eyes are darker than usual. His hair is in disarray and tousled lazily. 

"Oh," he glances between you two. He lets his arm fall to rest against the door. "Hi." 

"Hi," you swallow your pride for a moment. Offering a smile, your posture straightens tensely.

"So," Jisung begins, resting a sneaky hand on the small of your back to push you. 

Maybe that's why he was your soulmate. He encourages you to fight your own battles. At least, that's what he's doing now. 

"Um, I found my soulmate," you nod along as you spoke shakily. 

"Oh, really?" Hyunjin forces a smile. "That's good. Who is it?" 

You stumble over your words, glancing at Jisung for guidance. 

Catching the hint, Hyunjin chuckles. "Nuh-uh. You're lying." 

"I-I'm sorry. I didn't want you to find out by someone around the school. You know how rumors spread," you tell him abruptly. Your lips fall agape, exhaling heavy breaths that encourage your body to tremble nervously.

Taken aback, Hyunjin glances down at his lap. He gnaws on his lip. "I'm not gonna lie, it kinda hurts, but I'm happy for you two." 

He pauses for a moment, looking back up between you two. The awkward silence is lifted as he laughs. Tutting, he adds, "You two do look good together. I only ask of one thing, though." 

"What?" Jisung asks quickly as if he's been on the edge of his seat to talk. You glance at him. His fists are balled by his side and, he too, is shaking. 

"I gotta be the best man," Hyunjin points at Jisung, eyes wide with seriousness. Not even a sprinkle of a chuckle clings to his words. 

"As if you weren't going to be the best man anyway," Jisung scoffs. 

"Wait, if you two are so close, why did you never talk about him?" you propose the question, looking amusingly at Hyunjin. 

Jisung jumps back, overdramatically falling to the asphalt and clutching the heart of his tee. 

"Look, Jisung's a ladies' man. Even if you can't quite tell right now," Hyunjin shouts over Jisung's fake cries of pain. 

You look down at the boy screaming on the ground and shake your head. Yelling up to the clouds, you inquire, "Are you guys sure this is my soulmate?" 

"I can't believe you even have to ask that," Jisung finally sits up, gazing up at you with puppy eyes. 

"Don't you have baseball practice to get to?" Hyunjin points out, glancing at his radio clock. The time was ticking close to half an hour after three. 

"Oh shit, yeah. Seungmin's gonna beat my ass," Jisung jumps to his feet. He nods to you before jogging to the field. 

"I'll drive you home, Y/N," Hyunjin offers. Then, the doors of his sedan click. 

Oh. That's weird. 

"Text me when you get home," Jisung turns around to point at you. 

"Don't break anything!" you call out to him. 

"No promises," Jisung shouts back. 

You dip yourself into the passenger seat of Hyunjin's car. The ride is eerily silent until you ask, "Are you sure you're not mad?" 

"Why would I be? Fate brought us here and there's nothing we can do about it," he shrugs, eyes focused on the road. He doesn't glance at you like he normally does when he's driving you around. 

Additionally, he says, "I just hope I find my soulmate soon."

"What're your words?" 

"Word, actually. It's just 'hi.'"

"That's ambiguous," you state, looking out the window at the buildings whizzing by. 

"I kinda like it though. It'll force me to treat every person like my soulmate," Hyunjin remarks, drumming against his steering wheel. 

"You say that as if you aren't the nicest person to walk the face of the earth. D'you wanna know what my first words were to Jisung?" you look back to him. A smile is lingering on your lips. 

It feels like old times. Before the whole romance thing, you and Hyunjin were actually good friends. Inseparable, even. 

"I'm sure they were fine and dandy," Hyunjin mocks, sarcasm dripping from his tone. He offers a look in your direction as he's approaching a stop sign. 

"I told him to suck my dick," you admit, fighting the cackle that tempted your throat and left its mark on your lips. 

Hyunjin gasps sarcastically. He releases a hand from the wheel to shield his mouth in dramatic disbelief. "The nicest person I know would never say such a thing." 

Memories of middle school Hyunjin press the tip of your tongue and you're prepared to tease him when he pulls up to your house. 

"Thanks for the ride," you glance at Hyunjin as you're unbuckling your seatbelt. 

"Anytime," he smiles. And for a moment, you can spot the genuineness. 

Just as you're about the close the door, he says, "Don't break Jisung's heart, okay?" 

Offering a meek smile, you reply, "It's not on my agenda."

vii. 

The moon casts a soft glow on the rooftop. It encases you in an aura of safety. 

Beside you, Jisung whispers, "I can't believe it's been six months." 

You inhale the fresh air as your eyes fall. You whisper, as if this were a secret, "I love you." 

"I love you too," he says, draping an arm around your shoulders. 

"Do you think they know we're up here?" you open your eyes to count the stars. 

"If they did, we wouldn't be up here," he points out. 

You look over to him. Of all the stars, he shines the brightest. You shift your eyes down to his lips. 

Catching your gaze, he mumbles, "You know you don't have to ask or wait for me to-"

With that little hint of permission, you press your lips against his. The world shifts to a halting stop as the breeze fades. Warmth engulfs your body and nerves trickle goosebumps down your spine. 

He slips away for a moment too long. Craving the warmth of your lips again, he meets with them once more. 

He knows he's going to marry you, but he wants to treasure moments like these. Without the burden of children. Just pure teen love. 

Once more, he breaks apart. His ragged breaths are hot against your face as he asks, "Do you wanna go to a party with me tomorrow?" 

You hesitate, acknowledging the bore of the party twenty feet below you. "Whose party is it?" 

"Seungmin's. Don't worry, it's his little brother's party. No vodka. No Kijeong twerking on the wall. Just pizza and, if we're lucky, a game of Apples to Apples," Jisung describes. You can envision it now. Jisung messily slurping down pizza with grease splattered across his face and hands. And for some reason, you wouldn't miss that sight for the world. 

"Count me in." 

"Sweet. If the pizza gets snagged, we can go to Dominos or something. I think Jeongin's working tomorrow," he offers. 

"We haven't had a pizza date in a while," you state, resting your head on his shoulder. 

"Do you even remember what happened last time?" his infamous giggle fills the void of night. 

"Yes, but tell me the story again," you hide the blush that paints your face by nuzzling into his boney shoulder. 

"I'm not telling the world that awful story!" he exclaims, jokingly shoving you off of him. 

"You mean the one where you called our waitress 'babe' because you didn't realize it wasn't me?" 

His cheeks burn with embarrassment as he stammers, "I-In my defense, I was looking at my phone. And, and from the corner of my eye it looked like you!" 

"Oh so you don't even know what your own soulmate looks like?" you tease.

"Shut up," he pouts, crossing his arms defensively against his chest. 

You try to unlock his stiff arms so you can weasel your way in. But he remains strong, chanting that you apologize. 

"Fine, I'm sorry," you manage through bursts of laughter. 

As soon as the laugh fully slips from your parted lips, Jisung tackles you in a bear hug. 

"I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you," he repeats over and over. The words fill the air with such simplistic ease. As if they didn't weigh three hundred thousand tons. 

The butterflies never grow tame, you realize. Of course, neither does the loud pounds of your heart when he's around. With Hyunjin, at least the butterflies would calm down on the occasion. And your heart wouldn't ache when he was gone for too long. 

viii. 

You enter the party with the comfort of Jisung's hand in yours. Ahead of you, a piñata swings from a branch and children are circling chairs as a polka blares from someone's phone. 

"Ah, you came!" Seungmin grins, clapping Jisung's shoulder and offering you a welcoming smile. You hadn't talked much since the night of your nineteenth birthday. 

"Here's his present," you pull a small, wrapped box from your purse. 

"What is it?" he interrogates, a small purse to his lips as he examines the box. 

"Baseball cards. One of them's signed," Jisung jumps in, draping a lazy arm around your shoulder. 

"I might have to steal these," Seungmin eyes the light blue wrapping paper. Jokingly, he tries to sneak it into his pocket. 

"Who all's here?" Jisung asks, settling the laughter that followed Seungmin's stunt. 

"Hyunjin, Minho, and Chan are playing Just Dance with my dad in the living room. A few of Soobin's friends from school are here. They're the only ones who've shown so far." 

"Do you wanna go talk with them? I need to talk with Seungmin about something," Jisung glances at you, slowly retracting his arm. 

Bobbing your head, you say, "Yeah, of course." 

Before entering the home through the open glass door, you glance back at Jisung and Seungmin. They're boisterously laughing, so the conversation must not be too serious. 

You feel bad. For these past six months, Jisung spent every waking minute with you. Aside from his games and classes, that is. Today should be good for him, so he can get out and socialize. 

As you poke your head into the living room, Hyunjin shouts as he drops the Wii remote, "Has he proposed yet?"

Stifling a laugh, you shake your head. 

"Bro, you're ruining our score!" Chan reaches for the fallen controller. Seungmin's dad sits on the couch contently. He cheers on his teammate quietly. 

"What the hell is he waiting for?" Hyunjin's eyes widen as he slowly approaches you with his arms crossing his chest. 

You shrug. "I'm not sure, but I don't really care that much. Teen love is nice without the whole marriage question." 

Seungmin's dad nods his head at that. Without breaking his gaze from the animated figures dancing, he announces, "Don't feel pressured. Seungmin's mother and I waited until she got pregnant with our eldest. Made the wedding photos a bit more special." 

As you're about to open your mouth, a girl around your age with a lavender dress enters from the backyard. "Oh, uh, hi." 

Your eyebrows jump as you stare down Hyunjin. He shakes his head before holding the girl's gaze. "Are you here for Soobin?" 

Based on the stumbled attempts she made to speak, it was pretty clear what was going on. 

"Hyunjin, I think you've just found your soulmate," Minho finally pauses the game, glancing back to send teasing heart eyes. 

You slip past the scene, back into the noisy yard. Jisung waves you over with a grin. Seungmin stands close, showing him a random meme on his phone. 

You quickly cross the yard, declaring with a broad smile, "Hyunjin just met his soulmate." 

"What? Who?" Seungmin asks, radically shocked. He didn't expect Hyunjin to ever find his soulmate. Now he owes Jeongin twenty bucks. 

"I don't know her name, but she's wearing a lavender dress and her hair is in a braid," you describe. 

Seungmin peers behind you, gasping at the girl he sees. "You're actually joking." 

"Who is she?" 

"My fucking cousin. I don't wanna be related to Hyunjin!" Seungmin cries, stomping his foot and pushing out his lip like a child. 

"Just get disowned. It's not that hard. You already dropped out of baseball," Jisung points out, mocking the way Seungmin had sobbed at their last high school game. 

The glare Seungmin holds scares even you, though Jisung doesn't seem phased. You had always admired that confident perk of him. Though, one day, you knew it was going to get him killed. 

ix. 

With his arm wrapped protectively around your waist, Jisung sleeps. The TV hums at low volume. It's the home shopping network, advertising socks that are moisture resistant. 

Your thoughts prevent you from slipping into the dream world, though your eyes were aching with tiredness. It's nearly been three years. Hyunjin and his wife have already wed. Even Jeongin married his soulmate. But Jisung still shows no sign of even proposing. 

He couldn't be losing interest, could he? People have said that there are glitches in the system. Inaccurate soulmates exist. 

The mere thought trembles your body as tears wet your cheeks. The salt stings your skin. It reminds you of the words inking themselves into your skin. Forever, they would taint your wrist. A constant reminder of the boy stirring beside you. 

Huskily, Jisung mumbles, "Are you awake?"

"Yeah," you whisper, the tears creating a scratch in your throat. With the pads of your fingers, you quickly swipe at the culprits. 

"Why are you shaking? Are you cold?" 

You turn in his arms, sniffling. "D-Do you still love me?" 

"Why would you even think that? Of course I do," he tightens his grip on you. As if you would turn to dust and slip away. He buries himself in your hair, basking in the sweet smell of your shampoo. 

"Then why aren't we progressing? Why haven't you proposed?" your voice cracks as you break out of his hold. You sprout for air, strands of hair sticking to the dampness on your face. 

Sighing, Jisung hesitates. "I guess I'm scared." 

"Of commitment?" 

"Kinda. I'm scared you'll get tired of me. Or annoyed. A lot of people already think that, but the thought of you thinking it is my breaking point," he releases you, sitting up in the bed. He grabs his pillow and hugs it close to him. 

You sit up too. Reluctantly, you place your hand on his arm. Tears sting your eyes as you say, "I could never get tired of you. If anything, I'd die wishing I had more time with you." 

Jisung drops the pillow, reaching out to hug you. He plays with the ends of your hair and fights tears of his own as he says, "I don't have a ring right now, but I do want to marry you. Beneath all that fear I truly do. Really bad. Will you do me the honors?" 

"Ask it properly," you scold, hiding your laugh by burying your face in his neck. 

Your breaths tickle his neck as he grins, "Will you marry me?" 

"Of course, Mr. Sunshine. I will marry you." 

"Sweet," he slips away from the hug, settling back down into the mattress. With his back facing you, he mumbles, "I'm really fucking tired and probably won't remember this in the morning. Remind me about this, will ya?" 

You scoff, picking up your pillow and smacking him with it. His laugh fills the room, drowning out the TV and warding the bad thoughts away in a heartbeat. Jisung has that effect. It's like his superpower. 

Spending the rest of your life with this...manchild is a blessing. Every conflict you would ever face would be fought with him by your side. A reassuring hand on your back or his arm draped around you to push you. It's weird. But you weren't quite sure if you would ever trade it for the world. 

a/n: not my best, but I needed to write something so here it is.


	3. raison d'être - kim seungmin

synopsis: seungmin is a volleyball icon and you’re his cheerleader from the sidelines. 

genre: friends to lovers

word count: 6.5k

i.   
An air of pennies and seats of booming thunder. Each home game held this promise. 

“Let’s go sharks, let’s go!” the chorus of boys chant from the base of the bleachers, pounding their feet against the pale hardwood in emphasis. From the other end of the court, a similar cloak of enthusiasm lay. 

Though beneath the sheet opposite you, the whispers transcended. 

“Who’s number eight again?” A girl in a pale yellow dress glances at the boy watching the ball like the love of his life. Not once does he allow his glossy eyes to leave it. 

A boy with cheeks dusted in freckles: “I’m not sure, but he’s really cute.” 

“He’s a really good setter. I heard that he practices blindfolded,” says a girl who shoves popcorn haphazardly into her mouth. 

A single point separates ease of mind and loss. The setter in question, lips pursed and sweat beads illuminating under the fluorescents, steps backward. He bounces the ball beneath the weight of his palm. An additional step backward echoes into the crowd. You swear you can hear his shallow gasps for air. 

“Kim Seungmin!” one of his personal cheerleaders (and technically, teammates), Lee Minho, calls from the crowd. 

For the first time within the past sixty minutes, Seungmin’s gaze breaks from the ball. 

“Guide us to a win!” 

Something tugs at the corner of Seungmin’s lip before he shakes it away and tosses the ball into the air. It hovers a moment before his palm strikes it. 

The ball thumps in pain as it connects with the floor. It bounces to the right until it falls to a stop. Center. In the middle of everyone. How did he-

The rumble burns louder than it ever had before, nearly knocking you off your feet. If someone had shouted “Earthquake!” you simply would have dropped to follow the procedures. No questions asked. 

“Kim Seungmin! Our ace!” the cheerleaders scream. You can see a sweaty Chan rushing back from the net to hug the man of the match. 

The girl beside you, dressed in a blazer and tweed pants, nudges your arm. “C’mon,” she nods to the exit. “Let’s go before the parking lot is hell.” 

“Yeah,” you mumble. Your eyes dart back to the boy on the court. There was the slightest hint of a smirk on his lips as he bows to the other team. His eyes meet yours as he straightens his posture. And he lifts a hand to wave as the brightest smile reaches his gaze. 

A subtle shake of a stunned hand in return. The metal beneath your feet shook as you tried to stay close to Soojin. Her tan blazer flows behind her as she hops down the final step of the bleachers. 

When you emerge from the gym, into the echoey lobby, she says over her shoulder, “Do you think they’ll throw another one of those parties tonight?” 

You shrug, glancing at the glass trophy case that held a portrait of the volleyball team bound for nationals. Directly in the center was the captain himself, kneeling on one knee and harboring a wide smile. The corner of your lip twitches. 

“I hope not,” you look at the heel of her shoe. A piece of teal gum holds tight to the new Mary Janes. 

“I’d actually like to see the boys before they get drowned in practice with their new coach,” she presses her back on the door to unleash you into the cool autumn air. 

“I’m sure Seungmin would make time for us,” you mention, blinking as the air swipes away their moisture. 

“Felix might too,” Soojin adds, digging her hands in her pockets. 

“Maybe Jeongin. Only if we’re lucky.” 

“But the others,” she trails, sucking her teeth. 

“No, yeah, definitely not.” 

ii.  
Across the way at Delta Sigma Iota, bass bangs the floor. There’s a concoction of sweat and cheap vodka wafting in the air. 

You weren’t supposed to be here. 

In fact, you had planned the afternoon at home. Cuddled in a quilted blanket with a textbook and overdue homework. But alas, when Han Jisung calls, one must accommodate. 

He wasn’t where he drunkenly texted to meet at. So you stood awkwardly, arms crossed against your chest while many random men offered red cups withholding ‘fun juice.’ You pressed your shoulder in a crevice between a kitchen cabinet and the patio door.

The only good thing about this, you ponder, is that the patio door is chilled. It serves as an escape from the sweaty bodies drifting around like trash in the ocean. Aimless, yes, but you’re certainly aware of its existence. 

Your phone vibrates against your arm. 

[10:58 PM] Han Jisung: HEY ARE U HERE????

[10:58 PM] Han Jisung: MINHO LOCKED MY PHONE IN CAPS LOCK AND I CAN’T FIX IT

[10:59 PM] You: yeah. i’m where you told me to wait for you. 

[11:01 PM] Han Jisung: OKAY 

You lean your forehead against the glass. The depth of sleep tugs your eyes closed. Time claws its way to the finish line while simultaneously sprinting. A race of the tortoise and the hare, except they share the variable of changing time’s perception. 

“Hey, Y/N,” a voice breaks into your drowsy thoughts. 

Your eyes part abruptly. Pieces of the boy’s hair fall across his forehead in damp strands. A white cable knit sweater frames his torso to look like a fluffy pillow. 

“Hey, good job at the game earlier. You played really well,” you smile. 

“Thank you,” he tugs at the metal door to the patio before stepping out. “Follow me.” 

A rush of tempting cold wind brushes your eyelashes, aiding the sleep away. “Oh, uh, I’m waiting for Jisung,” you mention. 

He glances back at you, almost as if you’ve disrespected his bloodline, and says, “He can wait.” 

A familiar sensation of heat and nerves invades your stomach. With Seungmin, you were guaranteed to experience the feeling. You knew what it was, but it was best to ignore it. Problems are impossible to arise if they are never given light. 

“He’ll probably show up late anyway,” you succumb as you step onto the patio. 

iii.  
“The first star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might have the wish I wish tonight,” Seungmin mumbles as the stars twinkle down on him. 

“What did you wish for?” 

“Shouldn’t that be a secret?” he glances at you. 

A typical fall breeze stalks past, cutting your skin with chill. “I think that’s just for birthdays,” you whisper as you tug the ends of your long sleeve. 

Seungmin pulls himself to his feet, breaking into a soccer mom shuffle. Over his shoulder, he urges, “I’ll be back.” 

You sigh, bringing your palms to your arms and aiding goosebumps away. Crickets chirp in the distant forest. Held central in the sky, the moon poses as a hub for the stars that move outward in specks of familial unity. 

The patio door clicks. You glance over your shoulder. Seungmin gasps for stable breath as he extends a hoodie to you. “Here.” 

“You didn’t have to-” you shake your head. 

“I’d rather not let you catch pneumonia right before exam season. You’re my lifeline,” he chuckles. 

That alone warms your chest as if you were never cold in the first place. 

“Thank you?”

You slip the hoodie over your head. It smelled just like him. Tea tree and generic laundry detergent (but not the bad kind, the one that reminds you of home). You hug yourself as you lay down to stare at the stars. It would be terrible if you got a splinter in the back of your head.

Seungmin smiles at his lap before glancing down at you. “Have you found your raison d’être yet?”

The dark pit of uncertainty guts you. “I’m not sure yet.”

“Do you have any ideas?” he asks, laying himself down beside you. He props his head on the palm of his hand. 

“I mean I like being in school. It’s like,” you pause, scanning your brain for the perfect words, “home? I guess.” 

“Well,” Seungmin starts, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth, “I think you make an excellent teacher. You’re really smart.” 

You look away, shaking your head. “I’m not that smart. I just have the memory of an elephant. What about you? Do you have your life path?” 

Seungmin nods. “I think so, at least for right now.” 

He stops, hovering over his words for a moment. “I want to be a volleyball superstar,” he chuckles. “After that, a lawyer. I think.” 

“That’s a lot of schooling. I won’t be able to help you that far,” you joke. 

He abruptly laughs, filling the night with noise and your stomach with invasive butterflies. “Maybe we could open a firm together. Then you can do whatever you want.” 

“You’re gonna pay me even if I just sit and look pretty?” you look at him. 

He meets your gaze. Northeast of his iris is a twinkle. A star hidden among us. “Sure. Why not?” 

Kim Seungmin. How does he expect you not to fall in love with him?

iv.  
There was a bet made in your junior year of high school. 

“Kim Seungmin,” you declared, a red solo cup held tight in your hand. Alcohol dazed your vision, but the strobe lights didn’t help much to steady your view of him. “If you become captain of the volleyball team next year, I vow to be your personal cheerleader from here on out. All the way through college.” 

Seungmin, with slightly chubby cheeks and blushed skin, stared back at you. “Aren’t you already-”

“No,” you giggled. “I will go to every single one of your practices and take you out to dinner every time you win a game, so long as my bank account suffices.” 

His lips parted in awe. Then, a hint of a smile busied his face. “And if I don’t get captain?” 

You looked up at the cabinets that lined the kitchen. In the bouts of white, they were a cherry wood. You glance back at him, “Then you owe me the biggest favor of your life.” 

“And what would that be?” he asked, leaning closer to you as someone nudged into him. He hovered a little too close to you, mere inches being the divider. 

“That’s a secret,” you whisper, loud enough only for him to hear over the boom sourcing from the living room. 

Looking back, it’s safe to say you only made that bet to get closer than you already were. And that on your end there was never a favor in mind. By the end of junior year, he had climbed the ropes and gained the trust of his teammates. Your freshman year of college, the captain title transferred over (miraculously, because freshmen rarely get that title) and the dinners had taken their toll. Seungmin, like the angel he is, was fine with suspending that end of the deal. 

“Just keep your promise, alright?” he had smiled after a game one day. Fiery cheeks and sweat glistening the back of his neck. His sports bag was slung over his shoulder, and he still wore the number eight on his back. 

You endured the negative balance three won games later. 

“Y/N, I swear, you really don’t have to keep bringing me food like this,” he pouted as you arrived on his doorstep an hour after he got home from an away game in Busan. 

“I know,” you defended, sheepishly handing him the bag of Chinese food. “This is the last time, I think.” 

Hyunjin passed behind Seungmin on his way to the bathroom. His fingers were still wrapped from the game. “I’ll never understand you two,” he sighed. 

That time truly was the last, but you held the promise for arriving to all of his practices. Now, the first years are convinced you two are a couple, despite the numerous times you’ve said otherwise. 

Hyunjin is the only one on the court when you arrive on a certain Tuesday afternoon. He’s laying on the bleachers, limbs flailed in differing directions, staring up at the ceiling. When the door clicks behind you, he lifts his head. 

“Oh, it’s you,” he says drowsily. He relaxes back. 

“Hello to you too.” 

“Seungmin’s still in the locker room,” he mumbles, covering his closed eyes with his right forearm. 

“Why aren’t you with him?”

“The new coach is finally here and he’s literally the biggest asshole. He’s making me sit out because my,” he bends two fingers in quotation marks, “‘grades are lacking and I don’t serve purpose to the team right now.’”

“What?” you exclaim, scrunching your face in dismay. “You’re literally a starting outside hitter!” 

Hyunjin sits up, throwing his hands around, “Exactly! But he thinks Mingyu’s better. No disrespect to Gyu, but he only thinks he’s better than me because he’s taller.” 

You tut. From Seungmin’s words about the new coach, he is ‘utterly ridiculous and doesn’t understand the aesthetics of volleyball.’ And Jisung, in plainer terms: ‘He’s a fucking idiot.’

“Do you think he’ll kill me for being here?” you whisper. 

Hyunjin tips his head to the side. Drawing his bottom lip between his teeth, he shrugs. “He might.” 

Murmurs of recent hookups and wishes for this weekend’s parties draw closer. They file in, Seungmin at the back as he speaks quietly to the coach. A short man, maybe even shorter than Changbin, with a goatee and a pack of chewing tobacco close to falling out of his plaid shirt pocket. 

His iron eyes shoot towards you. Breathing patterns jump ship and you’re left playing statue. Seungmin’s eyes swivel over and he offers a small smile. Your exhale stabs your windpipes.

“You must be our manager,” he grunts. As he crosses his arms, he allows a deep sigh to expand his portly belly. 

Confused, you glance at Seungmin. He desperately nods at you, eyes wide with urgency. 

“Y-Yes. I am,” you force a polite smile. 

“Great. Can you go fill the water containers up? Scrimmage in ten. The drums are already by the hose out back. Pretty boy,” he snaps at Hyunjin before pointing a lazy finger at you, “help them.” 

Hyunjin clenches his jaw, nodding curtly before leading the way at a quick pace. 

“That smelly bastard,” he huffs. “I’m more than my looks. I hope his teeth fall out.” 

You shake your head, following close like a child to their angry mother in a grocery store. 

“At least Seungmin ranked you up,” he glances over his shoulder, releasing an exasperated breath. 

The dark green hose is highlighted by the vibrant orange bins beside them. As he’s steadying one upright, he says, “Do you like him?” 

“Who?” you ask. 

He looks up at you, handing you the hose while he twists the spout. “Seungmin. Obviously.” 

“Um. Uh,” you stutter. “No.” 

“Pfft. Don’t bullshit me. I won’t tell him or anything. I just need to confirm my suspicions,” he smiles, looking back at you. 

You stare back, dumbfounded. 

“Hey the water’s about to come about. You might not want to angle it at your shoes,” he nods to the hose. 

“Oh!” you exclaim, jerking to the right just in time. 

After a moment of nothing but the swoosh of water against the ice, he says, “So? The verdict?” 

You sigh, shaking your head. “Do not tell him.” 

“Never planned on it, sweetheart.” 

v.  
The lobby of the university was bland. Wood colored furniture scribbled the interior with lack of variety obvious to the naked eye. 

The glass trophy case gained another medallion from last week’s win. “We finally beat our rivals!” Jisung had chanted. You could hear him from a mile away, that loud raspy tune. 

“Can I spend the night at your house tonight?” 

You spin on your heel. Crossing your arms across your chest, you mutter, “No point in asking. You left your clothes there anyway. Soojin washed them for you.” 

Seungmin cocks his head to the side, pushing his bottom lip out sarcastically. “Aww don’t act like you don’t want me there.” 

You tsk, digging your keys out of your pocket and tossing them to him. “You’re driving.” 

He whines, throwing his head back. “I’m sore from practice! Didn’t you watch me do all those practice dives?” 

“Be lucky you even have a ride,” you point accusingly at him before guiding him into the parking lot. 

He sighs exaggeratedly. “Y/N,” he draws out. 

“What?” you snap, turning around. 

He tackles you in a hug, squeezing you as you try to squirm out. 

“You’re disgusting!” you shout, gagging as you feel a droplet of his sweat on the back of your neck. 

His laugh transcends in the mostly empty parking lot, echoing lightly. “I’ll let you go,” he manages through unspeakable breaths, “if you drive.” 

“Fine! Fine!” you gasp for air, coughing dramatically. 

A mischievous look of accomplishment garnishes his face. “Thank you,” he leans close to your face. You lean back, groaning and snatching the keys from his palm. 

vi.  
You should have kissed him. Countless times, he was close enough. Right there. Heat radiated off of him like a lure. The opportunity burned a circle in your heart. And you’ve let yourself miss it hundreds of times. 

The essay stares back at you in curious unfamiliarity. Words about a controversial topic that didn’t feel like yours glossed the screen. It was due in two hours, but production felt useless at a time like now. Regret was all you could see. 

Soojin bounces a volleyball off the tip of her fingers as she lays on the couch. Low instrumentals play on the TV, the bass running through her spine. She catches the ball and rests it gently on her stomach as she turns her head to you. 

“When did the title of a friend become a crush?” Soojin inquires. 

“What?” you look away from your laptop, not sure you heard her well. 

“When did you start liking Seungmin?” she shifts to her side, propping her elbow up to support her head. 

“Huh?” you ask. Panic traces your veins. She shouldn’t know. 

She just looks at you, eyes glimmering in curiosity. “Hyunjin told me.” 

You sigh, pressing a forefinger against your temple. “Four years ago. Sophomore year of high school. He got me a Valentine’s Day gift and I’ve been in love ever since.” 

“Wow. Your standards are really low.” 

“Rude.” 

“I mean,” Soojin starts, rolling back over on her back. She settles the volleyball between her and the nook of the couch. “He’s a good guy, definitely boyfriend material, but one gift? That’s what sent you over the edge?” 

You shrug, “I mean, yeah. I’ve never received male validation like that before. I thought I was just attention seeking but the feeling never went away.” 

A crack of thunder shakes in the distance. 

“I don’t think that’s seeking male validation,” she says, pulling herself off the couch. She advances to the kitchen. 

“Speaking of,” she shouts. “I have a date in thirty minutes so I will most likely be gone for the night if you catch my drift.” 

She peeks around the corner and winks. 

“Have fun,” you giggle, returning to your essay momentarily with a burst of inspiration. Maybe it was the relief. 

Rain had begun to patter against the window sill in rhythmic tunes. 

“Who are you hooking up with?” you ask, simultaneously typing. 

“Some girl from the golf team. Chan knows her. Miyeon, I think her name is,” Soojin returns from the kitchen with a Capri-Sun and her boots. 

“Miyeon? Is she the one who-” 

A knock on the door in the tune of La Cucaracha. 

“What do you want, Changbin?” Soojin shouts. 

“Is the door unlocked?” the boy on the other side counters. 

“Depends,” she mutters. 

“Yeah,” you return. 

Soojin glares at you. “I don’t wanna deal with my brother right now. “

“That sucks,” you smile, absentmindedly glancing over your paragraphs. 

Changbin rushes in, Jisung and Jeongin close on his tail. “Seungmin’s at the hospital.” 

“What?” you perk up. 

Jisung breaks off to the bathroom, going on about how practice was a disaster. 

“They think he broke his ankle,” Jeongin shakes his head. He nibbles on his bottom lip in distress. 

“What happened?” 

“Shit I need to go,” Soojin shuffles all of her things together. “I’ll stay close to the phone.” 

“Don’t get killed,” you shout before the door slams behind her. 

“Where’s she going?” Changbin asks, poising a thumb over his shoulder.

“Not important. What happened to Seungmin?” 

“We were playing a scrimmage with the new coach and he wanted Seungmin playing libero-”

“Like a fucking idiot,” Jisung calls from the bathroom. 

Changbin sighs, “Like a fucking idiot. Seungmin dived for the ball and twisted his ankle and couldn’t move it. It was all swollen and red.” 

“He even cried a little,” Jeongin added. 

You sigh. The essay can wait, right? Yeah. You can just email your professor and say that your childhood dog died.

“I’ll drive us,” you close the lid of your laptop. 

vii.  
“You should take the news, Y/N,” Changbin says. 

Jisung and Jeongin mutter in a rise of agreement. 

“Why?” you whisper. 

The emergency room was blindingly white with fluorescents and it stunk of hand sanitizer. The heel of your shoe clicks against the pale tile as you bounce your leg. 

“You’re his best friend,” Jeongin says matter of factly. It's a fact everyone knows, his face reads. 

By the taken aback look on your face, he adds, “Did you not know that?” 

“No. I thought you guys were more of that title,” you look at your phone distractedly. 

Jisung laughs rather loudly, garnering looks from future patients. One, in particular, has a bloodied rag held to his forearm. “Are you serious? He talks about you all the time. He’s practically in love with you.” 

Do you know the feeling of a shooting star? That glimpse of feeling invincible against the world for that split second? It radiates your vision and your breathing and you feel like you’re ascending. 

But they’re just saying that. 

A man in a white lab coat steps out from the restricted area. He holds a clipboard to his chest and leans down to the receptionist. She points in your direction. He smacks the palm of his hand against the desk before advancing towards you. 

“Are you with,” he hesitates, glancing at his clipboard, “Mr. Kim?” 

“Yes, we are,” you speak up like the boys had told you to. 

“I can only let one of you come back there with me, but he’s been persistent on seeing you,” he says, not waiting long before starting for the restricted area. 

You scurry close behind, glancing over your shoulder at the boys as the automatic doors creak open. Jisung sends double thumbs up. 

As you advance down the hall, the doctor begins his spiel. “He’s fractured his ankle, as I’m sure you’ve assumed. We’re uncertain of setting it on our own, due to its instability, so we scheduled surgery for tomorrow morning at 10 AM.” 

“Will it affect his sports?” 

He pushes an air bubble into his bottom lip before humming, “It shouldn’t in the long run. He’ll be out of commission for a while, but he’ll be fine.” 

Air leaves your lungs in thanks. 

He stops at a curtain near the end of the hallway. Gently, he pulls the curtain back to reveal a dazed Seungmin with his right leg propped on a pillow. 

“Be a little wary,” the doctor mentions before you step into the makeshift room. “He’s a little out of it right now because of the painkillers we have him on.” 

“Thank you, doctor,” you bow. 

“Shout if you need anything,” he says, hanging Seungmin’s clipboard on the foot of his bed. 

Glossy eyes look at you through a haze of drugs. “Y/N!” he exclaims. 

“Seungmin!” you mock, walking closer to him. You lean on the empty space to the left of his arm. 

“I’m so glad to see you. I missed you.” 

“It’s not even been twenty-four hours,” you chuckle. 

“Any moment without you is eternity,” he mumbles. 

Your breath is trapped in your throat. 

“Will you be here tomorrow?” he asks, eyes damp with...need? It’s probably just the medication. 

“Yeah. You can even stay at the apartment ‘til you recover,” you smile, resting your hand over his. 

“I love you,” he says, closing his eyes. 

“I love you too,” you smile weakly. 

viii.  
Seven week recovery ruined volleyball. 

Seungmin sat in your guest bedroom, which was practically his even prior to the incident, and absently stared at walls or did school work in silence. His puppy aura had simmered to a dog dying of old age. 

You knock on his door at 7:28 PM in the fourth week of recovery. The rest of the boys were at practice, leaving him in a drowning ocean of silence. 

Nothing comes from the other side of the door, so you allow yourself in. Cheek squished against his pillow, he slept in silence. From the doorway, you smiled to yourself. You grabbed the notepad from the top of his desk and wrote: Hey Min. I might not be here by the time you wake up but do you want to watch some movies tonight? I know you’ve been sad recently because of your injury and I would like to spend some time with you. I can pick up food on the way home if you’re awake by then. 

You set the note on his bedside table, between the pile of balled up papers and dirty cups. You gather as many of the cups as you can, stacking them and pressing them to your chest. On the way out, you stop in the doorway and look back at him. The little spark in your chest was becoming too hard to withhold. 

“I love you,” you whisper, barely loud enough for yourself to hear. 

ix.  
[8:23 PM] Seungmin: Idk if you’re still out but if you are can you pick up strawberries and cheesecake please xoxo

Petrichor drenches the air as you walk to your car in ecstasy. 

[8:24 PM] Y/N: Yeah of course. I’ll be home in like thirty minutes.

You swipe to the right, opening your chat log. A finger presses on the second chat box. 

[8:24 PM] Y/N: I don’t think I can keep doing this, Jin. 

You open your car door and slip in. For a moment, you sit in silence as the rainfall taps against your window at an ever accelerating pace. 

[8:26 PM] Seungmin: ?

The shooting star feeling returns in a swiveled turn. You’re descending now into the pits of embarrassment and disarray. 

[8:26 PM] Y/N: Oops sorry that wasn’t meant for you lmao. Meant for Hyunjin and it was about our physics class. Sir Newton is kicking my ass. 

“You’re joking,” you rest your head against your steering wheel. The chilled leather clings to your skin like a leech. 

[8:27 PM] Seungmin: It’s fine lol. Physics is ridiculous. It was a miracle I passed. 

[8:27 PM] Seungmin: WE COULD REVERSE THE ROLES AND I COULD TUTOR YOU FOR A CHANGE!!! WOULDN’T THAT BE PERFECT?

Your hands shake as you drop the phone in your passenger’s seat. Moisture blocks your vision and you begin laughing. At least you could feel the puppy excitement through the phone, returning in tiny bursts. 

x.  
“I’m home!” you shout, rubbing your shoes on the “Welcome Home” doormat. The plastic bags swooshed against each other. 

Clicks drag all the way down the hallway until Seungmin emerges. “Hey,” he greets. His hair was still messy from his nap. Green flannel pants and an oversized gray t-shirt. 

“Hi,” you smile. 

“Where’d you go?” he asks, propping himself on a stool. 

“Oh I went to the library to study for my physics test,” you put the bags on the counter in front of him. Tugging on one side, you unveil the containers of strawberries. 

“Did it go well?” 

You shrug, revealing the box of strawberry cheesecake. Seungmin always raved about this brand ever since Jisung swore up and down it was life changing. You crumple the bags together and stuff them in the plastic bag cylinder by the door. Another day, another time you forgot your reusable bags. 

“What kinda movies should we watch?” you turn back to him leaning down to press your forearms atop the island in front of him. 

Staring into his eyes, you remember what he said when he was woozy from meds. Any moment without you is eternity. 

You take the strawberries to the sink. Water rushes from the faucet in tune with the downfall outside. 

“Let’s watch a rom-com. I think I’m in the mood for something like that.” 

“Perfect. Oh! That reminds me,” you start, looking back at him for a split second. “When you were in the hospital, the boys made me go back to see you first.” 

“I remember that,” he smiles, taking a deep, content breath.

“The boys said I’m your best friend. Isn’t that funny?” you stack the food atop each other and guide him to the living room. 

“They’re right, though. You’re pretty much my best friend,” Seungmin props his crutches beneath his arms and follows behind you. 

The cheesecake box is darkened with spare droplets from the strawberries. Your heart races. “Really? I always thought Jeongin held that honor.” 

“Pfft. You’re funny. I love Jeongin, but he’s nowhere near your level. Yeah, he’s my teammate, but is he my personal tutor and cheerleader? No. And even if he did that, he’d never be close to you.” 

You fall into the couch. “So I’m only there because I boost your grades and ego?” 

“No, no. Not what I meant. You’re just,” he paused, glancing away, “perfect in a way.”

“Are you flirting with me right now?” you tease, looking up at him with an overconfident grin. 

He eases himself beside you, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “No! Not at all!”

He brings himself to look at you, eyes wielding shock. Parted lips stare back at you in that same luring draw. “Okay maybe a little.” 

You scoot a little closer to him, glancing back to his lips. 

Seungmin smiles. He gently raises his hand to your hair. “Can I kiss you?” 

Without another wasted moment, you kiss him. His lips are warm and taste like strawberry chapstick (he did have an addiction, didn’t he?).

If you could describe the height of life, it would be this. Sitting on cloud nine and kissing Kim Seungmin of all people. 

When the inevitability of parting strikes, you look away, trying to disguise the smile bracing your lips. Beside you, he reaches for the strawberries. 

“You know,” he starts, popping the lid open. He holds a strawberry between his thumb and forefinger and bites a tiny piece off while he giggles. “I’ve been in love with you since we first met.” 

Eyebrows furrow as you look to him. Your voice is low with a confusion of emotions.“What?” 

“Well,” he cocks his head. “Maybe that’s an exaggeration, but it has been a long time.”

“You’re not messing with me, are you?” 

“Why would I?” he mumbles, intently looking at you with eyes that hold the world. If you look close enough, though, you can spot a star. And you make a wish. 

“Oh, and by the way, Hyunjin told me you liked me.”

xi.  
Midterm season passed in the same blink as fall. Winter was among us, teasing the air with frostbitten intentions. It would have been nice—if you weren’t sick with the flu. 

At least Seungmin’s leg had healed in ‘perfect timing.’ 

“I’ll see you after practice,” he kissed your forehead.

You whine, pushing the covers off of you in a fit of random heat. He chuckles, turning back and returning the gray duvet to its locked spot around your arms. “You need to sweat it out, baby.” 

You sigh. “I know.” 

He turns for the door. “I can’t kiss you until you’re clean again, so get better!” 

“I love you!” you say (to the best ability that your fragile voice can handle). 

“I love you too! I’ll get Hyunjin’s mom to make you some of that soup for you.” 

“Thank you,” you call. 

And with that, he’s gone. Back to his routine that, disappointingly, didn’t include you for the time being. It’s funny how time changes relationships like that. One week, you’re a completely independent person with a favor towards one’s company. The next, you’re slightly more dependent on that person until, ultimately, you fail to see yourself without them. 

The absence of Seungmin became too deafening. You sprawl towards your nightstand, reaching desperately for the remote. By the draw of luck, the tip of your finger drags it just enough toward you. 

You return to the cocoon of your sheets as you liven the television. The local meteorologist was discussing tonight’s unexpected snowfall, which was predicted to be a doozy for those who leave their homes on a general basis. To everyone in the apartment, though, it’s a free day. A day for board games and, from a weird tradition stemming from one of Minho’s miraculous rituals, Harry Potter films. 

“Hey, I’m home,” Soojin peeked her head in your room. Her work uniform was pretty much off already, showcasing her black plunge bra. 

“Hey,” you mumble. “They’re calling for snow tonight, you know? Hopefully, you won’t have to go to the cafe.” 

“Shit, I hope so,” she shouts from her room. “We were absolutely slammed tonight. Some guy walked in and asked me for a Venti iced caramel hazelnut macchiato with extra foam and three shots of espresso. Do you know how ridiculous that is to make?”

After a few seconds, she comes back, still topless, “Can I borrow a shirt? I need to do laundry.” 

“Yeah, go ahead. Top left drawer.” 

“Sweet. Thanks.” 

She chose a plain gray, bleach splotched shirt that was a victim of a botched DIY tie-dye experience. 

“Do you think you’ll be all good by the next game?” she asks sheepishly as she tosses the shirt over her head. 

“The regional deciders? I better be,” you mumble, trying to sit up. 

“If you’re not, I’ll FaceTime you or something,” Soojin says, moving her arms behind her back to unclasp her bra. She pulls the straps through her (well, your) shirt. 

“You’re too good to me,” you chuckle. 

She laughs in return, pulling her bra out completely. “What do you expect me to do? Let you rot in here while your boyfriend’s competing for the biggest break in his career? I’m mean but I’m not that mean.”

She slips from the room, presumably to toss her bra in her pile of dirty laundry which stood as tall as Mt. Everest. “Oh! Speaking of, I saw him on the way back home. The boy wasn’t wearing a jacket or anything. I almost pulled over and beat his ass myself.” 

“Summoning your inner Changbin, I see,” you say, unveiling your phone from a complicated fold in the duvet. You open his contact, typing a quick message. 

[6:13 P.M] Y/N: wear a jacket on your way home :(

xii.   
“Honey, I’m home,” Seungmin sings as he knocks lightly on your opened door. 

“Hi,” you greet drowsily. You can barely keep your eyes open when you glance at him. 

The rustle of a plastic bag draws closer. At the foot of your bed, weight shifts beneath him. “I brought your soup,” he whispers. 

You sit up as best as you can. You inhale deeply. “Hey, I can breathe now.” 

His laugh lights a sparkling tingle in your veins. “That’s great,” he says. “Maybe you can end up going to practice with me on Friday after all.” 

He hands you a plastic spoon and then the Tupperware container. Warm to the touch. A hug in a jar to make up for the lack of hugs from the boy in front of you. 

“I’m gonna go take a shower. You’ll still be here, right?” 

Gently, you remove the top of the container. “Where do you think I’d go?” 

“Touche.” 

The TV tells How the Grinch Stole Christmas while you slowly drink down the soup. In the bathroom, Seungmin sings along to harmonious tunes beneath the patter of water. 

“Hello?” Jim Carrey echoes. 

Your phone buzzes beside you. 

[8:59 PM] Yang Jeongin: ask your thing if he figured out his school business yet. He hasn’t responded to me or Hyunjin and coach is pretty angry. 

[8:59 PM] Y/N: What school business? 

[9:00 PM] Yang Jeongin: oh shit he didn’t tell you? I wasn’t here. Didn’t say a thing. 

At the very least, you hope he’s not planning on dropping out. With volleyball, he can’t. Maybe he’s just changing majors. But he was so confident with the lawyer business. 

The whine of the shower handle turning screams above your thoughts. It takes him a maximum of two minutes to return to your room. A towel hung around his neck, dangling loosely onto his bare chest. Basketball shorts clung low on his hips. 

“So, um, what’s going on with school?” you ask, dipping your spoon in the soup and slowly swirling it around aimlessly. 

“What do you mean?” he asks, pulling the end of his towel up to his head and ruffling his hair. 

“I’m not sure. Jeongin texted me and was asking to talk to you about something. Your coach seems angry with you,” you focus on the soup. 

“Oh. That,” he says. He sits on the edge of your bed and reaches for your hand. “Pinky promise not to kill me?” 

“Are you about to tell me you’re dropping out? Because I won’t guarantee a false promise.” 

“No. Never that,” he shakes his head. “I’m switching to a photography major.” 

“Is that it?” you ask. You were expecting something a little bit more dramatic, to be honest. Nothing in Seungmin’s life is anticlimactic like this. Not even his texting errors. 

“Well, it’s not official. I just think my life goal shifted when we started,” he looks down at his lap, a subtle smile gracing his lips. 

“Really?”

“Of course. You began to be my raison d’être, if you will,” he leans closer to you, pressing a small kiss to your lips. 

You press a firm hand on his chest, pushing him away. “First of all, you’re gonna get sick. Second of all, I thought you wanted to be a lawyer.” 

“I did,” he starts, collapsing on the bed, “until I realized I could spend the rest of my life capturing you. And people like us. I want to be trapped in this romantic cycle until the day I die.” 

“You’re so cheesy,” you set the soup on the nightstand to let it swim against the glass container on its own accord. 

“Only when I’m with you,” he swoons. 

You roll your eyes, “Your teammates beg to differ.” 

“What? Who told you?” 

“You just did, dumbass.”


	4. a spell for you - hwang hyunjin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really do not know how to format stuff on ao3, if you have any issues reading I'm so sorry :(( things are neater on my tumblr (bandaigaeru) and you can message me there if you have any suggestions/complaints!

→ synopsis: he had spontaneously chosen you as a victim, leaving you with nothing but the desire to return his motives.

→ word count: 11k

→ genre: hogwarts au, enemies to lovers

→ pairing: slytherin!hyunjin x gryffindor! gender neutral reader (feat. jihyo (twice))

→ warnings: one mention of the reader's period (it's not necessary for context, but just know that it is there)

→ author's note (super quick haha): i feel like i could have done a lot better with this, so perhaps there will be a rewrite in the future if this one disappoints you. happy, slightly belated, new year!

i.

His hair catches the light with a shimmering pang. He brushes a hand through it, tucking a pestering strand behind his ear. Intently, he watches beside him, where his friends are shoving each other and threatening a fight. His lips are parted, threatening a smile.

"Stop trying to steal my potion," Changbin shoves, his grip on the glass bottle tightening as Seungmin reaches for it.

"You're the one who took it from me!" Seungmin whines, defensively hitting the inner elbow wielding his potion.

"No fighting in my classroom," Professor Nam breathily warns, leaning back in her chair defeatedly. She found it too difficult to try corralling them anymore.

You scoff.

Hyunjin turns to you, a smirk pulling the corner of his lip. "What? Got a problem?"

You roll your eyes. "Your presence is breaking my concentration. Why don't you go fight with Seungmin and never come back? That sounds perfect."

"What're you even concentrating on? The test you're gonna fail anyway?" Hyunjin jabs, puffing out his bottom lip in fake sympathy.

"Says the one who has worse grades than me."

He drags his chair closer to your desk, robe trailing slightly behind. His heavy breath casts a warmth against the back of your hand. "That's no way to talk to a superior."

"Superior?" you glance up, laughing. "Slytherins will never be superior to Gryffindors."

"Why is that?" Hyunjin cocks his head, a small, amused smile playing on his lips. His eyebrows jump with curiosity.

"Because snakes will only ever stay in the grass. Lions can at least jump."

He nods. "True. But a snake can kill a lion with its venom, and then your jumping is pointless."

From the seat in front of you, Jeongin groans. "Shut up already. Ravenclaws are the best and it's time you all admit it."

In unison, you and Hyunjin mutter, "Never that."

You look to him, his eyes in the same amount of shock as yours. You slam your textbook closed, shoving it into your bag. "Gross."

As you're standing from your chair, he coos, "If you're going to the common room, you should change."

"Why would I change for you, Hwang Hyunjin?"

"Because there's a stain on your pants," he smirks.

You grimace, tossing a dismissive wave over your shoulder as you leave the classroom. Nam doesn't care. She's too busy filing her nails and trying to keep Seungmin and Changbin from decapitating each other. You know, a normal day in her classroom. Plus, the bell is nearing its drone.

The hidden entry shifts for you as you approach. "Thank you, madam," you shout to the portrait above you.

The lady hums. The cement crackly replenishes itself behind you as you relish in the abandoned common room. Everyone is in classes, or should be, at least. You rush up to your room, tossing your bag and immediately changing into a different set of pants.

Sure enough, on the butt of your previous plaid ones is a small brown splotch. It can't be your period, so you slowly get closer to look at it. The waft of chocolate tickles your nose.

"Hwang Hyunjin," you grumble. He's probably sitting in that classroom still, snickering with his friends at how gullible you are. But hey, at least the stain kind of blends in.

ii.

The idea of revenge had seemed a waste of time in your formative years. Until your eyes locked with Hwang Hyunjin's in your first year. Those beady little pupils that followed every move you made. Tactical. Always ready to sink his fangs.

His first prank had been a simple fart joke (as fresh teenagers love). With the wave of his wand, he summoned a low groan right behind you. His acting skills were put to use as he brought a hand to his nose. "Ew, Y/N farted!"

Your cheeks flushed as you confusedly turned to him. You snapped, "No, I didn't."

Though, his choir of laughs had drowned your defense and left you with the heat of shame. He smiled back at you as he sat down, his dark wand still poised in his fingers.

Now, as you sit in the dining hall with hyperactive attention and a dismal pull for hunger, the target enters. His blond hair is pulled back into a ponytail, with a few straying pieces. There is a quirk to his lips as he talks to the friends at his sides. You can feel the bass of his laughter in your shoulders.

"Hello? You in there?" Changbin waves a hand in front of your dazed eyes.

"What?" you turn back to him as Hyunjin takes a seat in his usual spot.

He sighs. "You scouting him again?"

"I have to get back at him," you mutter, picking up your fork before you stab the noodles on your plate.

"Y/N," Changbin whines. Your steely eyes look to him, and he immediately softens, caving in on himself.

"You're a Gryffindor," you start, twirling the noodles, "better start acting like one."

"Are you saying I can't be friends with both of you?"

You shake your head. "Never insinuated that. I'm standing my ground, and you shouldn't be preventing me from doing that."

Changbin looks to the other faces listening in, but all of them are little help. Jisung catches his eye, shaking his head. Defeated, he sighs, turning back to his meal. He drowns the words on his tongue with water.

The dinner session ends rather quickly (thanks to your rambled thoughts). Students bustle to return to designated common rooms for the night. Your eyes are glued to the back of Hyunjin's head. He's in no hurry, evidently, because he is still seated at the table, eyes crinkled with laughter. The cold wood of the wand is a familiar feeling in your palm. It's comforting. It reminds you of a time where Hwang Hyunjin was merely a classmate. How simple life was.

The hollowness he had claimed in your stomach deepens when he finally stands. You

point your wand at him carefully, suddenly grateful Changbin isn't here, and whisper, "Confundo."

The trademarked confident stride caves in on itself as the boy shrinks. He glances around. Upturned eyebrows and lost eyes. You rush to walk past him, a small wave and a smile. He doesn't seem to recognize you.

You can't help but laugh.

iii.

Your head is held high as you're walking to your first class of the day. Last night hasn't stopped replaying in your head, and the smile has yet to fade. He looked so lost. His eyes were wide and puppylike, and it even sent a jolt through your heart. Finally, he'd gotten a piece of his own medicine.

A barrier stops you from going further. It tugs you back by the sleeve of your blazer, leaving you to stare back into the somewhat lost eyes of the boy you had terrorized.

"What do you want?" you mumble, glancing down the hall. If anyone were to see you two, this close, they'd know something was up.

"What spell did you use? I can't shake it. I've been awake all night trying to get rid of it."

You chuckle and shrug. "Well, it's already lost some of its oomph. Only time can cure you."

You try to continue your path, but he grabs your shoulders and spins you back to look at him. He leans close to your face, and your breath chokes you. His eyes are no longer wide with innocence. They hold a knife back at you. "What spell did you use?"

"Confundo. Why, do you think I cursed you?" you scoff, squirming beneath his palms. "I'm not that mean, Hwang."

He lets go of your shoulders, staring at his shoes in defeat. You stumble a little. "Dumbass," he mutters, "We have an exam today. I can't concentrate on something like that, especially since I was up all night. Why would you do this?"

A sprout of something dizzying scratches your chest. You lean onto your toes as you whisper, "Should have thought about that before you started this mess."

You continue your walk to class with newfound guilt. Behind you, Hyunjin mutters, "I'll get back at you. Big time."

Your day had always been thwarted by the presence of Hwang Hyunjin, for he was always in every class. But today, he's not there. You presume he's caught in the Slytherin tower, curled in a ball as he tries to dispel his confusion. Mayhaps he's even sleeping. In a way, you kind of miss his antics. The way he tossed his head back and let his hair cascade at the fate of gravity simply for the muse that it 'helped him think.'

You found yourself smiling at your exam packet, and you instantly recoil. Hyunjin's an asshole, and he deserves everything he gets.

Changbin nudges you. You glance at him and he begins to fight a laugh. "What're you thinking of in that pretty little head of yours?"

You look back to your test in alarm. "Nothing," you whisper, warily glancing at Professor Nam, whose eyes wander up and down the aisles.

"Is it Hyunjin?" he leans toward you.

You shake your head, hissing, "Absolutely not."

Professor Nam skips over a row to you. "No talking. I'll take points if I catch you two again."

Changbin settles back into his test, leaving you with thoughts of your own. As you aimlessly bubbled in answers seemingly obvious, you thought to Hyunjin. Maybe you were a little out of line with the confundo incident, but it was your turn for revenge. You glance up at his empty chair when you finish the test. In the far corner of your head, you swear you can hear his obnoxious laugh and breathy, "I told you so."

Overhead, the bell rings. It dismisses everyone from their classes and momentarily dismisses Hyunjin from the warmth of your thoughts. You pass your exam forward, quickly scavenging your things together and following the pack into the halls. Nam's class is the last of the day, and it's Friday. Your weekend is free ahead of you, and you consider inviting Changbin and Jisung to a picnic or something.

A hand claps down on your shoulder before a deep laugh shakes in your ears. "Y/N! I heard what you did to Hyunjin. Genius, I must say."

You glance to the owner of the voice, meeting the glimmering eyes of Kim Seungmin. He looks down on you with a warm smile. So unlike a Slytherin.

"Thank you," you straighten your posture as you continue walking.

His hand doesn't move from your shoulder. His breath is hot against your ear as he whispers, "But if it's just between you and me, you're gonna wish you didn't do that."

Shivers trail the back of your neck to your wrists. When you look at him, he's still harboring that welcoming grin. "Ciao," he removes his hand to wave at you. Then, he starts in the opposite direction, against the wave of traffic.

You walk the rest of the way with your eyes glued ahead. A Gryffindor does not back down. They are brave, you remind yourself.

The Fat Lady allows you entry into the common room, but the hallway is backed up. You stretch your neck to try and see above the crowd, though nothing but heads of hair taints your view. There's a pit in your stomach, and before you can shove through, you already have an idea what's going on.

The Gryffindor common room has been plagued with the stench of Hwang Hyunjin's mischievous antics. It is drenched in a potion of Nidore, resembling the smell of untreated B.O. Han Jisung plugs his nose as he glances around. He catches your eye, muttering, "Do you smell this?"

Your eyes are lazed with irritation. Curtly, you nod. "Yeah. Hyunjin did this. I'm sure of it."

Jisung whines, tapping his foot impatiently, "Why can't you two just keep your tricks in class? This is violating school rules. He shouldn't be in here. He's a Slytherin!"

You bite on the inner piece of your lip as heeled steps echo closer. The presence of a tall woman sends anxious goosebumps down your spine. You turn to her, though you're sure you look pitiful.

"What is the meaning of this?" she shouts, looking among the students for any clue.

Jisung nudges your arm.

"We have reason to believe it was a Slytherin's doing, madam," another professor slips into the room, promptly covering his nose.

"Do we have a name for this Slytherin?" she crosses her arms and purses her lips.

The professor shakes his head, looking to his freshly shined shoes. Faintly, he wonders if the smell will ruin them. "No. Not yet."

The headmistress sighs, waving her hand. "Gryffindors are to report to the dining hall immediately until this mess is covered. Start an investigation at once."

"Yes, ma'am," the professor's head falls as he pushes back through the crowd, which is now graciously evacuating. Those simple words were all they needed.

You feel bolted to the floor. All you can do is stare at the bun atop the headmistress's head. Hyunjin had gone too far, but you had triggered this. Jisung grabs your wrist and pulls you out.

He takes you up the hall, into the bathroom. He closes the door behind you.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he whisper-shouts.

You shake your head, a rock lodging its way into your throat as you avert his sharp eyes. "I fucked up."

"Obviously."

Han Jisung is standing with his hands on his hips, his eyes looking like they're about to bulge from his head. He must be disappointed. "What're you gonna do about this?"

"I'm gonna have to tell McGonagall."

Jisung sighs, taking a long look at you. "If you think that's what's best, go on." He opens the door for you.

You trudge back to the Gryffindor common room. The Fat Lady grants you entrance, though she says, "It sure smells in there, love. I wouldn't stay long if I were you."

When you reach the end of the hallway, McGonagall is no longer there. Instead, there's a blond boy who laughs quietly to himself. He looks back at you. "I knew you'd come back."

"Hyunjin, what the hell do you think you're doing? You went too far. You could get expelled over this, you know?"

He shakes his head. "I won't get expelled. My family's donated too much to this school. You should have seen the look on your face, though."

You blink as he stands. "Have you ever stopped to think about other people for a change? I'm nothing without this school."

Hyunjin sucks his teeth. "Should have thought about that one."

You open your mouth to retaliate, but overhead a voice takes over. "Y/N Y/L/N of Gryffindor and Hwang Hyunjin of Slytherin, please report to the headmistress' office immediately."

Hyunjin wraps his arm around your shoulder, the tips of his fingers trailing a path along your collarbone. "Shall we?"

iv.

"I can expel you. Is that what you would like?" McGonagall inquires, pushing her glasses up on the bridge of her nose. Around her, papers float as she pointedly looks for one in specific.

"No," you mumble.

Hyunjin tips his head back, allowing his hair to fall back. There is a menacing curl to his lips.

"Your antics have been going on for how long? Nearly six years?"

Your gaze is locked on your shoes. They need a shining, you note.

Hyunjin begins chuckling. "You're not actually serious about expulsion, right? My family would never let you hear the end of it."

McGonagall plucks a paper from the air, looking at it. "No, Mr. Hwang. But keep up your attitude and I'll make the remainder of your time here a living hell."

You look at Hyunjin, whose eyes wait for yours. He smiles, offering a sharp pierce to your heart. Your eyes shoot back to the floor. The toe of his shoe pierces your vision, inching to nudge yours.

"What I think is appropriate," McGonagall starts, plucking another paper. "is that you two seek a middle ground. I am requesting that wizardry chores are to be saved for you two, and you will perform them together. I am uncertain on the duration, still, but I assure you it will not be comfortable."

Hyunjin scoffs. "You're gonna make us do laundry or something?"

McGonagall sighs, looking up at him. She offers a pitying smile. "It'll be much, much worse than that, Mr. Hwang."

"Thank you," he sarcastically remarks.

You look up to McGonagall, bowing your head gently. "Thank you for not resorting to expulsion." 

"You two are immature wizards, which is incredibly dangerous in today's society. I need to knock sense into you, not allow you the means to rebel."

You don't dare look at Hyunjin, but you're sure he has smoke billowing from his ears. Because nobody, not even the headmistress, should talk down on him. "A Slytherin," you recall him saying, "is the top of the food chain."

"Now," she claps, sending a jolt through you. "Your first task is to remove the potion from the Gryffindor common room. That should be fairly easy for you, Mr. Hwang."

He grimaces, starting out of the office. He swears beneath his breath, and doesn't even make fun of you when you trip and nearly faceplant. Instead, he offers a glance back at you before continuing on his way. Not even a single sly comment.

When you return to the common room, Changbin waits outside. He pushes off the cement walls, arms crossed against his velvet robe. "Oh? Are you two finally allowing your love for each other to blossom?"

You shoot him a warning look, but it amasses to nothing when Hyunjin grabs him by the collar and pins him against the wall. "Watch your mouth."

He throws him to the ground before hesitantly entering the hallway.

"Who pissed in his Cheerios?" Changbin scrambles to stand up again. He seeks you for answers, but falls short when all you offer is a secured gaze on the floor.

The Gryffindor common room is still oozing with stench, but in the center of it is Hwang Hyunjin, the mastermind. He seems more bothered by McGonagall's comments than the smell. He raises his wand of Blackthorn, chanting an unknown spell. The odor vanquishes, leaving you only with the other elephant in the room.

Hyunjin starts out the door, bumping into your shoulder on the way. "Just stay out of my way and we won't have problems."

You huff, staring at the back of his neck, "Be mature for once."

He stops, his head slumping. He slowly turns back to you, venom laced with his words as he says, "You're the reason we're in this mess. Stay out of my way so we can get this over with, okay?"

Ice builds up your ankles. You cannot move. You cannot speak. You're left to watch as he storms out of the room. So much for a stable weekend.

v.

Things truly began with doing the laundry. Muttered remarks fluttered from Hyunjin's lips, though he does not speak directly to you. Nor does he even offer a spare glance.

Then, you had a trip to Hogsmeade. Though, under strict supervision by Professor Kim, whose gaze never left your necks. "Isn't the grocer that way, Mr. Hwang?" he had said. Hyunjin tensed, dark eyes looking back at the old man. Though, he did not speak. He simply moved on his way.

After that, McGonagall had sent for you two to clean the Slytherin dungeons. "Real Slytherins aren't this piggish," Hyunjin grumbled, scrubbing harshly at the moss buildup.

Hesitance built in your veins every time he was around. Though, his gaze has not crossed your skin once. His words, too, were never meant to travel over your robes. He treats you as though you are an imaginary friend who he vowed to erase from his life.

You release a shaky breath.

"I won't be at dinner," you warn your friends for the sixth day in a row. A setting sun peeks through the broad window panes.

"You serving time again?" Minho manages through sips of scalding coffee. For a Ravenclaw, he didn't always live up to the stereotype.

"They're not serving time, per se," Changbin counters. "But close enough."

Chan tugs at your sleeve, pulling you away from the crowd. "Are you okay?"

Tears prick the corners of your vision, but you nod. "Yeah. I'm fine. I just kinda wanna get this over with."

Chan offers a small, sheepish smile. "Okay. Just let me know if you need anything. I may be a Hufflepuff, but I can beat his ass if you want me to."

You giggle, bringing your sleeved arm to brush against your nose. "Thank you."

At the end of the hall, where it halts with the choice of the dining hall or the potions branch of the school, you take a left while everyone else turns right.

Today, McGonagall needed you to clean the bathrooms. Hyunjin, of course, was not looking forward to it. He didn't look forward to anything, you realize.

"Hey," you greet, gently setting down your bag outside the bathroom. The door is still closed.

Hyunjin looks up from his phone. He doesn't say anything, but at least he acknowledges you by slipping his phone into his pocket. His hand encases the doorknob before he pushes it open.

Disgust twists his face as he gags. "What the hell? Have these ever been used?"

"Evidently," you remark, peeking around the doorway to see a pile of green sludge accustomed to the floor.

Hyunjin sighs. "I guess we better get started."

You nod, picking up a mop that awaited. You work in silence. Hyunjin curses under his breath, grunting as he works. When you steal a glance, his face is reddened and there are beads of sweat threatening to drip from his brow.

The sludge, you presume, is mutated moss. It's actually quite common in castles like this one. Nonetheless, it's gross to eliminate. And the smell. Just thinking about it would send shivers down your spine.

On Hyunjin's end of the bathroom, behind the protection of a wall, there is a gurgle and an accompanying shout. "You're joking," he whines.

He steps out from the stall, the white of his undershirt blotched with green and orange. It looks like vomit, but it smells much worse. You don't have time to laugh, for he's gathering his things. "I'm tired of McGonagall making us do her stupid errands. Doesn't she have servants for this? I'm done!" he offers you one last glance before he leaves.

Silence was more comfortable when he sat in it with you.

vi.

You jolt with the realization. Certainly you weren't starting to enjoy Hyunjin's company. That's outright impossible. If anything at all, you were merely starting to see him as a comrade or acquaintance.

But you were not, absolutely not, starting to feel something for him.

The sun starts to leak through your curtains, portraying your sleeping roommate like a silhouette. You sigh, falling back onto the pillows. The ceiling stares back at you with an intimidating uncertainty. Hyunjin wasn't going to be doing the chores anymore, so it would be pointless in talking to him about it. So long as McGonagall doesn't find out that you're working solo, things should be okay.

You travel with the crowd, accepting breakfast alone. Your friends were probably still sleeping. Minho might be awake, but he's likely locked in the Ravenclaw chamber, hiding from the outside world on his rest day.

McGonagall's wishes for today, as delivered by Professor Kim, was to visit Hagrid's hut and obtain a dragon egg. The reason, she did not state. Probably official school business that you had no intention, nor desire, of searching into. If Hyunjin were with you, that'd likely be a different story.

You leave the castle at quarter to noon. It's chilly outside (you probably could have used a jacket) but the sun is held central in the sky. You take a deep breath, admiring the traveling scents of blossoms and lilies. The gravel path crunches beneath your shoes. A bright pink azalea catches your eye. It hangs on the edge of the forest, serving a bookmark among the green. You step off of the path, taking careful steps toward it.

"Wow," you mumble, bringing your palm to it. It's soft against your skin.

You wonder if Hyunjin likes flowers. A smile cracks your lips. "It'd be funny if he did," you whisper to yourself.

A squealing cry causes you to flinch. You turn in the direction of the noise, spotting a pig running for dear life. Its little legs overworking themselves in a blur. Close behind is a hippogriff, tall and muscular. It walks with leisure, for its legs equate to nearly thirty of the pig's.

You gulp. They're bigger than the textbooks lead on. You take a wary step back. A stick crunches beneath your weight. The hippogriff's gaze sways toward you. It cocks its head curiously.

You wished you paid more attention in Care of Magical Creatures. Stupid Hyunjin and his stupid distractions. Why did he even begin picking on you in the first place? Was it chance? Did he know you were a Gryffindor and simply nod and declare you were the one? For whatever reason, it has brought you here.

A Gryffindor shouldn't cry in a situation like this. They should stand tall and tame the beast. Fight if they have to, but that's a shrugging matter. You're not like other Gryffindors, though. Who are you kidding? You're a lousy one.

So you cry. If death is upon you, all you really can do is cry.

The hippogriff opens its beak and lets out a shrill cry. Its heavy footsteps echo into the trees, shaking birds from branches. It poises its hind legs in a crouch, preparing for the hunt. Like any predator, it expects you to run.

You shake your head, glancing to the pink azalea beside your head. You close your eyes, bracing yourself for the impact. You hear its footsteps drawing near.

"Alarte ascendare!" a voice yells. There is a boom and a crash.

Hesitant, you open your eyes. The hippogriff is laying in front of you, bloodied and gasping for breath. A wave of heat washes over you as you dizzily fall to your knees. You try to look for the source of the voice, but your vision is hazy.

Arms wrap around you. They steady you. You look up. "Hyunjin?"

"Shh, it's okay. I'm here," he pulls your head into his chest, resting his chin atop your head.

"What're you doing here?" Your mouth is dry. Any moment, you feel as though you might fall. Through the earth and into an abyss. But still, Hyunjin holds you.

"Same goes for you. Why're you out here unsupervised, huh?" his voice is in a calming whisper. His fingers trace repeating lines through your hair.

"McGonagall wanted us to go get an egg from Hagrid," you tell him, removing the detail of the flower. You didn't need him calling you stupid for straying from the path.

He sighs. For once, he's speechless. He just keeps playing with your hair, occasionally glancing to the hippogriff, who has since long stopped breathing.

vii.

Behind the large wooden doors of the infirmary, you hear a droning voice. "Slaughter of a magical creature on school grounds can be charged with expulsion. Are you aware of that, Mr. Hwang?"

The following voice is much quieter, though you don't have the energy to strain yourself. Your head is pounding, and there's a bandage around your ankle. Your eyes fall on the door. A nurse has her ear cupped to it. Heavy eyelids take their reign over you. The voice fades into the darkness, leaving you cold and lost.

When you finally open your eyes again, there is a face hanging over you. You slowly blink.

"Sleep well?" McGonagall inquires. Her glasses hang low on the bridge of her nose. You're afraid they might fall on you if she stays much longer.

You nod. "What time is it?"

McGonagall steps back, bringing her wristwatch into frame. She tilts her head. "Around 2:30. It's Thursday. You've been here nearly twenty-four hours, you know?"

You fight to sit up. Imaginary weights drag you back. "Don't expel Hyunjin," you find yourself saying, though the words seem foreign. You're not even sure you spoke them in your native tongue.

"Sorry?"

"I said," you pause, taking a deep breath, "Don't expel Hyunjin. It's not his fault."

McGonagall juts out her chin, pursing her lips. "And why shouldn't I?"

You sigh, as though you cannot believe that you're defending Hwang Hyunjin. "I was careless. I strayed from the path to Hagrid's because I saw a stupid flower. If it weren't for Hyunjin, I'd probably be dead meat."

She hums, removing her glasses and pointing the golden frames towards you. "So my plan, it worked?"

"What plan?"

"Of getting you two to mature and see each other as equals."

"I don't know about the whole equals thing-"

"Hush, I don't want to hear it. You two will meet in my office Saturday morning, I expect. I'll send a reminder tomorrow evening," McGonagall huffs, turning to leave. Her heels clobber against the tile all the way to the end of the hall.

Within no time, the nurse is at your bedside, offering you a glass of water and a blonde potion. "Can I get you anything else?" she asks, interlacing her fingers and resting them on the pocket of her apron.

You glance at your ankle. "What happened?"

She offers a weak smile. "I wouldn't be able to tell you. Ask that blond boy who brought you in. I'm sure he knows. Or at least, he'll be able to point you in the right direction."

You slowly nod. "Thank you."

"Yes, dear. Oh, and you should be able to return to your dormitory as soon as you're ready. Take it easy."

When she's disappeared into the office by the set of doors, you sigh. What mess did Hwang Hyunjin get you into? More accurately, what mess did you get yourself into? You can't even find it in you to be mad at him, though logically you should be. Especially with the way he stroked your hair before you fainted. At that moment, he seemed like an angel. A blond-headed angel, whose blood was tainted with the venom of snakes.

Even so, none of this would have happened had he not stormed off. And you'll remind yourself that every time an endearing thought crosses your mind. He may have saved you, but he had essentially set you as bait. Indirectly, but still.

Near dinnertime, you leave the infirmary to freshen up. Your hair was matted and there was dirt smudged on your cheeks. After a quick shower, wary of your wrapped foot, you hobble to the dining hall. Before you settle with a questioning Seo Changbin, you glance at the empty spot of the infamous Slytherin section. The setting sun failed to cast a glow on blond hair, for he was not there. Perhaps he had been pulled from school, and McGonagall has yet to hear the news. Or maybe he's punishing himself for even going after you. Regardless, a swollen hole burns through your chest. It sparks irritation as you push around tonight's meal with the tip of your fork.

"Hey, what happened to your ankle? Did Hyunjin do something? Why aren't you answering my questions? Why are you sulking?" Changbin racks off. "Hello? Anybody in there?" He nudges your shoulder.

"I don't know what happened. I need to talk to Hyunjin about it," you simply say, finally forcing yourself to eat the food. Despite not eating for nearly two days, you felt no sense of hunger. In fact, you felt as though you were about to explode. As if you had eaten too much.

"Ah, I see. You're sulking because you have to talk to Hyunjin."

"I don't think it's that," you sigh, slumping as you look back to his spot. Still, it's empty.

"Then what's the problem?"

You think hard about what you say next. You can't tell him about this weird concoction brewing in your chest, for he'll run with it and send the school into another Battle of Hogwarts. "I just feel off. I don't know."

Jisung nudges your shin from beneath the table. You look up to him. He mouths, slowly and deliberately, "Are you okay?"

You nod, half-certain.

Changbin continues to pester you, despite the lack of responses. Even when you stand to return your tray, he follows. All the way to the common room, he sticks close, leaning over you to whisper more questions. You can't even fathom how he hasn't run out yet.

He grabs your shoulders, spinning you around. "Look at me."

Your eyes feel slow as they scan for his. He continues, "I don't know what's gotten into you, but if you need to talk about it, I am here for you. If it's about Hyunjin, I won't run off to tell him, okay? Family before friends."

"Thanks, Binnie," you force a smile, before breaking away from his grasp and closing the gap to your room. You gently close the door before plummeting onto your bed.

viii.

Hyunjin fails to appear to any class other than Professor Nam's. His seat, though filled, holds a barren figure with bags pulling at his eyes. He spares you a small smile when he catches your stare. He even offers a spare remark about your shoes. "Don't you think it's time to retire those, Y/N? They're all shabby."

But that's all he can bring himself to say. When he turns back in his seat, he slumps a little. Seungmin whispers something to him, and his head barely shakes in response.

You try not to stare at the back of his head. Even it seems to have lost some kind of sparkle to it. The bell blares its dismissal, and the class evacuates immediately. You take your time, for Hwang Hyunjin appears to be in no rush.

"Hey, what's wrong with you?" you block his way when he tries to pass without a single word. "Don't you need to get your quota of insults in? The week's over, bud."

He looks at you like he's never met you. "Oh. Sorry."

He pushes through, brushing past your shoulder. Gently. Not the usual brash interaction.

You huff, stumbling after him. "We need to talk."

"Go ahead."

"Not if you're gonna be like this. C'mon, I wore my ugliest pair of pants to try and get a rouse from you."

He spares a glance at the bright plaid trousers. "Nice."

You smack his shoulder. "What is the matter with you?"

He shrugs. "I don't know."

You stop walking, merely watching as he continues down the hall. There's no point in this, you realize. Arguing with this Hyunjin is like talking to a brick wall encased by another brick wall. Things will resume to their normal pace in due time.

You pull yourself to the Gryffindor common room, barricading yourself in your room. The moment your head connects with your pillow, a single tear falls. It's hot against your cheek.

At quarter to six, you decide to skip out on dinner. You're not sure what you'd do if you saw him sitting at his table, drawn back from the usual conversations with Seungmin.

A card slips under your door, scraping against the hardwood. You sit up to retrieve it. On the front, in large, careful cursive letters is your name. A small letter is inside, reading, "Do not forget our meeting tomorrow morning. 9:00 A.M. sharp. If you are not here, I will have someone fetch you."

You begin laughing. McGonagall's going to have a fit when she sees you and Hyunjin. A vivacious boy with a tongue for quips turned hollow and you, a Gryffindor with a newfound fear of facing him.

ix.

The back of his neck is marked crimson by the amount of times he scratches it during that meeting. His gaze averts yours, even when you know you've burnt a hole in his cheek.

"I'm sure you're aware why I've called you in," McGonagall sighs, crossing her arms as she leans against her desk.

You force your gaze to rest on her, slowly shaking your head.

"I have no choice but to dismiss our project we had."

"You mean making us do chores together?" you question, sure Hyunjin would be proud of you for such a comment. When you glance at him, he doesn't even spare a blink out of routine.

"Well, if you view it as such I'm afraid I can't change that," she nods. You know that if Hyunjin had said that, he'd be getting yelled at. Good day to hold the Gryffindor title, you dejectedly admit.

She scans Hyunjin's face for any sign of life. "You in there, Mr. Hwang?"

His head shifts upward toward her. "Yes, sorry."

"You're awfully quiet," she mentions. He shrugs, returning his eyes to his lap. He fidgets with the dark wood at the tip of his wand.

"Well, if there are no further objections, you are free to leave."

Hyunjin runs with these words, taking his bag and rushing out. He barely even offers a polite quip. You follow him out, a few distancing steps in between. He heads for the Slytherin tower. For a moment, you consider calling out and inviting him to lunch. But you don't. Instead, you go back to the Gryffindor common room, nestling in for a game of chess with Changbin. He's not very good, but at least it serves as a laughing distraction.

The sun falls over the horizon rather slowly, as though someone tugs it back on a pulley system. Changbin wishes you goodnight a bit past eight, leaving you with a distant desire to study. You shuffle to your dorm, preparing to stare absentmindedly at a textbook, when your eyes fall over the emerald robe.

Hmm, you think. Should I? Or should I not? Well, he has been very weird. And you're overly curious. It's swallowing your life.

You sigh, picking it up and swinging it over your shoulders. You pull the hood up, slipping back out into the common room. The students continue their nightly games of Mafia. Not a single set of eyes shoot at you.

Breaking curfew is punishable by copious amounts of detention. Good thing you're invisible to the guard wandering the halls.

Sneaking into the Slytherin tower is rather easy, given the circumstances. The cobblestone corridor leads you to a darkened room emblazoned by the crackle of fire. A blond boy lays on the gray carpet, his eyes vacant as he blinks at the ceiling. His friend sits on a leather couch, shrugging as he says, "I don't know man, you've just been so weird lately."

Absently, the boy on the carpet mumbles, "Sorry, I guess."

"C'mon, talk to me. I'm your best friend, Hyunjin," Seungmin sighs. He rubs a distressed finger across his brow.

Hyunjin shakes his head. "There's just this weird feeling in my chest."

"What?" Seungmin leans forward on the couch, dangling his hand close to the boy's face.

He leans out of the way as he sits up, resting his palm on his heart. "I can't explain it. I feel full all of a sudden?"

"How long have you been like this?"

"Ever since the hippogriff situation."

Seungmin falls back against the plush of the couch. His mouth is agape until a smile creeps upon him and he laughs. "I hate to break this to you, Hyunjin, but I think you've developed a crush."

Your heart catches in your throat like a rock you're incapable of swallowing. It thrums louder than the conversation unfolding. Hyunjin's lips are loose as he glances around the room. His eyes sit on you a little too long, and you slowly back into the corridor.

What do you do with this information?

x.

A harsh sneeze interrupts your slumber. You glance around through tired eyes. It's still dark in the room. Your roommate is snoring lightly.

You rest back onto the mattress, trying your hardest to dismiss a quiet cough. A bead of sweat trickles down your neck. Just what you need, you think as you shut your eyes. Maybe this is karma for sneaking into Hyunjin's space.

You hate the euphoria you experienced when you settled into bed that night. Heart a fluttering mess and cheeks pummeled with heat. Changbin would kill to hear this. Both ends. Regardless, though, you feel way too guilty to talk to Hyunjin. Some crushes are best suppressed, you think. A Slytherin-Gryffindor duo traditionally doesn't end well.

By the time you fall asleep, the sun has begun to rise. Then, by the time you wake up, the sun is ready to fall. You moan when your roommate asks if you're feeling alright. Her shivering hand comes in contact with your forehead. "Oh my God, you're burning up!"

You hiss, trying to pull your covers over your head. She tugs them back down.

"You should go to the infirmary," she says. "I'll help you there."

Hesitantly, you sit up. There's a sour taste in your mouth that burns the back of your throat. A quick palm jumps to your lips as you rush to the bathroom.

"Here," Jihyo comes close behind you. She offers a Ginger Ale.

"Thanks," you say, rubbing your mouth with the back of your hand. You take a quick swig of it, swishing it around before spitting it into the toilet.

Jihyo leads you out of the room with an arm around your shoulder. The common room is empty, aside from a few who sit behind vast textbooks. "Everyone's at dinner," she informs.

You don't have the energy to nod. It's hard enough trying to keep a straight path, even when you're leaning against her shoulder.

"Welcome back," the nurse jokes. You try to smile.

She takes your temperature after Jihyo tells her your situation. "Ooh. 101. Thank you for bringing them, sweetheart."

You take to a bed, slowly leaning to sit on it. Jihyo leaves shortly after, telling you to seek her if you need anything.

"How's your ankle doing?" the nurse asks as she offers you a cup of pills (a fever reducer and an anti inflammatory).

After you struggle to swallow them, you say (through a crackly voice), "Good, I guess. Still haven't gotten the story to it."

She presses her lips into a line, "That boy. I'll have to talk to him."

A strange light feeling punctures your heart. She pushes gently on your shoulders, forcing you to lie down. "Get some rest, dear."

Sleep comes very naturally. There's only a few moments where you struggle to return to it. The next day, the nurse brings you a cup of pudding for breakfast. You ask her what time it is.

"It's around 10. Monday."

You sigh. "I'm missing classes."

"I'm sure your professors won't mind, given you're still feverish," she checks your forehead with the back of her hand.

You eat the pudding in solidarity, watching the small TV across from you. It's displaying The Desperate Housewives of the Wizarding World. It's on all day, which is fine by you, since you're not leaving anytime soon. The final dismissal bell jumps you from your daze.

Only a few moments pass before the large doors swing, followed by the pattering of feet. "Y/N!"

Jisung rushes toward you, his burgundy robes trailing behind him. He pushes his round frames up. "Are you okay? I heard from Jihyo."

You nod. "Yeah, I feel a bit better now."

His hand finds your shoulder and he shakes you gently. "You're not going to believe this."

Your thoughts jump to Hyunjin and your eyes widen eagerly as you wait for him to continue.

"Hyunjin was whining all day about you. He was all 'where are they?' and stuff. Did something happen when McGonagall started that chore thing?"

You fight a grossly parasitical smile, shaking your head. "No. Nothing really."

He stays a little longer, telling you things you missed from the classes you share. As he's departing, you stop him. "Hey, Sung, I got a question."

He turns back to you. "Shoot."

"Can I borrow that magic note passing thing you bought on vacation?"

The good thing about Jisung is he doesn't ask questions. So long as you're not harming anyone, he'll do just about anything for you. He simply returns ten minutes later, gently placing the notepad on the table beside you. "You just write your note and address it. It should be sent immediately. Oh, and the other person receives a pen too," he informs, passing you a normal looking pen.

"Thank you, I owe you."

He waves his hand. "Nah, it's no big deal."

You pick up the pad of paper. It appears no different from normal paper, though it smells rather lemony. You rethink the words over and over before you finally settle. In the center of the paper, you write: I heard you missed me :)

Then, you address it before you can find a reason to regret this.

xi.

You cannot find yourself an ounce of sleep, so you stare at the television screen. It's still playing reruns. A paper fizzles into your lap, the corners materializing before the center. Your note reads back to you. You flip it over, where a new pattern of ink lay.

To Y/N: I'm going to murder Han Jisung.

Your laugh echoes in the large, empty infirmary. The nurse has gone to her quarters, now that the sun has set.

You write back, He has cool magic though!

Not only because it's true, but because you would like to keep this conversation going for just a little longer. Even if it is useless and greedy to want something like this from him.

Few seconds pass before the paper returns. To Y/N: I will give him that. I didn't even know this was a thing. Can we meet up in the Charms hall?

You bring your hand to your forehead. After Jisung's visit and your nutritious dinner of pudding, you feel much better. Like normal, even. Plus, the nurse had told you it's up to you when you want to return to daily life.

So you gather your things and return to your dorm. "Hi, Jihyo," you say quickly before rushing to shower. She is left in a dismal state of shock, staring at the bathroom door.

"I'm meeting up with someone, don't wait up for me," you inform as you pull a sweater on.

"Who?" she asks, bouncing her wand as she jiggles a paper midair.

You glance at her as you pull shoes on. "Classified info."

"Just say it's Hyunjin," she starts. "I can read you like a book."

You giggle. "Then fine, it's Hyunjin."

"Don't set the school on fire, please. I would like to finish my seventh year in peace."

"I don't plan on it."

"Be safe!" she calls as you open the door.

"I will."

You shuffle through the common room and out into the halls. Curfew was nearing. Maybe you should've grabbed your invisibility cloak.

In all honesty, you weren't sure why you were doing this. Until the glimmer of blond hair beneath the moonlight pierces your view. Knowing fills your chest, warm fairies dazzling your skin.

He looks up to you, a smile rushing onto his face. "I thought you weren't gonna show."

"Well, I suppose you're in luck."

He grabs your wrist when you're in reach, "Come on, I wanna show you something."

You allow him to pull you out to the courtyard. A little way's past the quidditch fields, there is a flower box. Filled to the brim with peonies and lilies. There's even a couple pink azaleas.

"Tada," he says, opening his arms to the post.

"You snuck me out of the castle to look at flowers?" you laugh.

"Not just any flowers," he points, crouching down to look at them. "Healing flowers."

"Really?" you inquire.

He looks up at you. Beneath the moonlight, his hair shines and his eyes twinkle amongst the stars. "Yeah. They heal everything."

"How do you even know about this?"

He shrugs, looking into the stamen of a certain peony. "My mom's a flower nerd. When she called most recently, she told me about this spot."

You crouch beside him, "Did she plant these?"

"Some of them. I think she likes azaleas, so probably those."

Your heart skips a beat. "Do you like the azaleas?"

"I-"

From behind you, a voice shouts, "Now I can't keep you away from each other?"

In sync, you look back. McGonagall is standing at the top of the hill, her arms crossed against her silk black robes. "Come on, you two, it's past curfew."

You dawdle up the hill, slightly limping on your ankle. You suppose you should have asked him about it.

When you meet McGonagall, she whispers, "By the way, I'm getting more eyes on you two. No more late night meetings."

xii.

The moon takes its reign in the sky, passing time as though it never wants to leave the throne. There's a waft of nutmeg traveling through the vents. Felix must be baking again.

The lamp on your bedside table clicks on. You look over to Jihyo, who is very much asleep. Her mouth hangs open and her limbs are flailed in varying directions.

A piece of paper forms against your chest. To Y/N: I'm sorry for getting you in trouble.

You shake your head, heart taking fire, as you search for a small piece of room to write: It's okay, I willingly went with you.

You wonder why he's awake. More importantly, why he's apologizing. He's never been one for owning up to anything, so why start now and here?

Within minutes, you receive the paper. To Y/N: I guess she can't police these notes haha

In return, you write: I hope not. Can you smell that nutmeg?

To Y/N: YES IT KEEPS TICKLING MY NOSE!!

To Hyunjin: It's probably just Felix, so I'm letting it slide this once.

To Y/N: Even then, I'm still considering killing him.

To Hyunjin: Same time you're gonna kill Jisung?

To Y/N: Yeah, actually. Thank you for reminding me.

You stifle a laugh, cautiously looking at Jihyo. She releases an abrupt snore, which stands in solitude.

To Hyunjin: Hey btw, do you know what happened to my ankle?

A few moments turn into minutes of twirling your thumbs for a response. The nutmeg retracts its intensity, leaving room for the Sandman to tarnish your eyes with the temptation of sleep. You grow tired of waiting, turning off your lamp and settling into the covers.

Morning comes, but the receiving message does not. You prepare for your day, following the stream of students to the dining hall. Hyunjin is already there, and his eyebags prove his late night. He looks up upon Seungmin's pointing, offering you a wave and a grin.

Nice Hyunjin is so weird.

You smile back. Changbin waits at the end of the food line by the time you get there. "Hey, heard you got caught with Hwang last night," he nudges your arm, raising his eyebrows.

"Nothing happened," you assure.

He nods, though he's not sure he believes you.

You grab a muffin and a carton of orange juice before following Changbin to Jisung, who is nursing a bowl of burnt oatmeal.

"How can you eat that shit?" Changbin grimaces.

You steal a glance in Hyunjin's direction. He's playing a rather intense game of rock, paper, scissors, with another Slytherin. After several rounds of ties, he finally beats the other with scissors. He pumps his balled fists into the air and laughs. His hair falls over his shoulders when he throws his head back.

He looks beautiful.

Maybe you were succumbing to the greed of this desire to be near him. So what if he was a Slytherin? He could be a Hufflepuff and no one would care if you two began seeing each other as more than friends. So why should anyone care if he's a Slytherin?

Jisung presses the tip of his wand against your cheek. "Hello?"

You hastily turn back to him, nearly redirecting his wand into your iris. He flinches back. "Zoned out much?"

"Sorry," you mumble, peeling the wrapper from your muffin.

"It's all good. I was asking if you're coming to Hogsmeade with us this weekend."

You tilt your head, as if the answer is teetering to one side of your brain. "I don't know."

"Come on," Changbin whines. "You've been so disconnected from us recently."

"Plus," Jisung adds, "This is gonna be the last weekend until April."

It's October. You sigh. "Fine. I suppose I'll tag along. But you guys are paying for butterbeer."

You probably would have gone anyway, despite how little you showed interest. Hearing their pitiful whines was just too fun.

"Good. Invite your boyfriend," Changbin nods to Hyunjin, who is walking down the aisle to get breakfast. He marks your gaze, turning a bit to come talk to you. A heat jumps to your chest, slowly rising to your face as he claims the seat beside you.

"Hi," he simpers, his eyes squinted and his teeth glimmering beneath the drowning sunlight.

"Hi," you return the expression. Not because you have to out of politeness, no, but because it's so hard not to.

"Are you going to Hogsmeade this weekend?" he asks, the smile quickly dissipating when he realizes Changbin is just over your shoulder. Eyes of a hawk, that one has.

You open your mouth to speak, but Changbin has already gathered his words. "Yes. They're coming with us."

You thrust your elbow back, nailing right between his ribs. He wheezes, doubling over. "Yeah, I'm going," you tell Hyunjin.

"Good. Meet me at the sweet shop around one," he pauses, turning to Jisung, "I won't keep them long. Promise."

Jisung shakes a free hand as he pools oatmeal onto his spoon, "No, it's fine. Take as long as you need."

Hyunjin smiles. "Nice. Okay, I'll see you later," he stands, patting your shoulder as he walks by.

"What a nice guy," Changbin manages with a smile, though he's still clutching his chest.

xiii.

His gaze is tilted upward as he watches the chocolate dragonflies dart to and fro across the ceiling. There's the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his lip. It twitches ever so slightly when a dragonfly threatens to sit on his nose.

"Hey," you greet. He jumps a little, turning to you. The chocolate bug has vanished, fluttering up to its haven.

"Oh, hi. I didn't think you'd get here so quick," he laughs.

You glance at your wrist. "It's 1:05."

He shrugs. "Aren't Gryffindors normally late?"

"Aren't Slytherins not the type to wait around for a Gryffindor?" you retaliate.

He nods, pointing a finger at you as his eyebrows furrow. "Touche."

He buys you a chocolate frog, despite your complaints that you could pay for your own. "No, no, it's on me," he insisted, shoving his money into the cashier's palm before you can say much else.

You perch atop floating stools, staring at him as he tries to wrangle his frog. His mouth hangs open with anticipation as he tries to guide it there. There's a tug at your chest that compels you to smile.

"So why'd you want to meet with me? I thought you were still in your sulky phase," you tease.

He looks up at you. There's a film of innocence to them. For a moment, you forget his reputation. He blinks, summoning a twinkle to the corner of his right eye. "I wanted to ask you for some advice," he finally says, rather confidently. His posture straightens and a cocky smile finds his lips. The Hyunjin you know.

"You didn't knock a girl up, did you? Because I will not be helping you get out of that one. You may be cool, but not that cool," you ramble.

His frog jumps from his palm, hopping away into the niche of chocolate animals with a poised ribbit. Hyunjin rolls his eyes, though a contradicting smile forms. "I was looking for this spell."

You lean closer, interested. "And? Which one?"

"Amortentia."

You pull back. That's a love potion. "Why would you need that?"

He sucks air in through his teeth, glancing away as he informs, "Well, I wanted to use it on you, but I thought maybe it's best not to drug you."

You laugh despite the thundering of your chest. Your fingers find the corner of a Wizard

Card, routinely picking at it to distract yourself. Hesitantly, you mumble,"What are you trying to say here?"

"God, Gryffindors are so dense," he throws his head back, a bubbling laugh bursting into

the air.

"No, I just want to hear you say it."

He groans, gaze slipping back to yours, "I like you a little bit."

"A little bit?" you challenge, recalling his fit in the Slytherin common room.

Hyunjin rests his arms on the table as he leans closer to you, your noses nearly touching. "It sounds like someone told you something. You don't seem very surprised," he hesitates before adding a quiet, "or appalled."

His lips are so close to yours. You can smell his green apple chapstick. You find yourself at a loss for words, for his lips keep your gaze. Oh, what the hell. You close the gap between you, allowing your lips to mingle for a few seconds before pulling away. There's a small giggle to your words as you say, "You're not good at hiding your emotions, Hwang Hyunjin. Aren't Slytherins supposed to be good at stuff like that?"

He scoffs. "Aren't Gryffindors supposed to be noble? You snuck into the Slytherin common room!"

"How'd you know?"

He chuckles, "Your shoulder kinda slipped out of the cloak."

This takes a minute to process. It seems like your usage of the invisibility cloak will now be put on hold. You can only look at the oak table, lips pursed in a disappointing defeat.

You rotate your ankles in small circles when you remember. "Hey, by the way, why was my ankle all messed up? You never answered my letter."

"Seungmin came in," he grabs your hand. "But when I was carrying you back to the castle I may have been a little careless and let your ankle run through a bush of thorns."

You smack his arm with your free hand, mouth agape. "You what?"

"It was an accident! I'll make it up to you," he promises.

"How so?"

He draws your lips to his for a quick peck. "What do you want?"

You think, squinting. "Hmm. I can get anything?"

"Within reason," he declares. "I'm not buying you a unicorn or anything."

You shake your head, for what you want is much more simple. "Can we go on cute dates?"

He hums, interlacing your fingers. "Of course."

"Oh! And we have to go to the Yule Ball together-"

"Sure."

"But we're wearing Gryffindor colors."

He drops your hand, pulling away as if your fingertips scalded him. "Absolutely not."

"C'mon, you owe me."

"Not that much. Your ankle will heal. My pride, however, will not."

You sigh. "Fine, we can settle for non-house colors."

"Deal."

xiv.

"I saw him playing with your fingers," Changbin shakes you vehemently after you sit down at the dining table.

"Why won't you let this go?" you ask.

"Well, you see, when a guy who traditionally hates someone randomly asks them to hang out, their friends should be a little concerned."

You look to Jisung, who is more interested in his soup. "Did you watch us too?" you ask.

He barely looks up. "No, I was at the book shop—I think."

You turn back to Changbin, though he's already shaking his hands in defense. "No, the difference between me and Jisung is-"

"That Jisung's smarter than you?" Hyunjin appears, sitting on the bench beside you.

"Yeah, I think it's that," you nod, sharing his smirked gaze.

"No," Changbin defends, "Jisung is only concerned for physical wellbeing after the fact. I care prior to the event happening."

"If we all lived your way, we'd be sheltered," Jisung adds, twirling his spoon.

They dive into a heated discussion bordering an argument. Hyunjin wraps his arm around you, and the sounds of Changbin whining fades to black. You look up at him, "Shouldn't you be sitting with Seungmin?"

He shakes his head. "I got banished for talking too much about you."

You roll your eyes. "Don't sacrifice your friends because of me."

"Hey, you're the one who makes me this way. If I could not be 'Y/N would like this' every time I saw anything that even remotely reminded me of you, trust me, I would."

"Do you really do that?"

"Any time I see flowers," he sheepishly admits. He catches glimpses of the flower beds every day, nearly four times. Sometimes five if he sneaks out to see you.

You chuckle. "Just say you're in love with me, geez."

"I don't want to inflate your ego," he kisses your temple.

A stray comment from Changbin floats into your bubble, "Gross!"

"Speaking of egos, do you have your suit for the ball?" you ask, pushing your spoon into the sea of spinach and kale.

"I guess I should tell my mom about that," he mumbles.

"Hyunjin! The ball is in a week!"

"Yeah, and I also need to tell her we're dating," he laughs dryly, suddenly absorbed with something down the aisle.

You shrug his arm off of your shoulder. "What? It's been nearly a month!"

He looks back at you as if you're arguing over spilled milk. "Life at the Hwangs is very hectic, okay?"

"He's lying," Changbin says. "They only see each other, pay the kids, and leave."

Hyunjin looks ready to punch the sly grin off of his face. Instead, he pats your thigh. "I'll call her tonight."

xv.

He calls to you from across the bustling room. You stand in awe as your eyes lay upon the black velvet of his blazer. In the chest pocket is a red and gold handkerchief, folded to perfection.

"You look great," he simpers, eyes slipping from your exposed collarbone down to the dark green fabric that expands out from your blanketed feet.

He wraps an arm around your waist, whispering, "You're wearing my color."

Butterflies take reign over your stomach, swarming out in packs. You grow shy as he pulls away.

"You look stunning," he presses a soft kiss on your lips.

He drags you over to Seungmin, who chats with Minho in carefully structured quips.

Seungmin takes a long look at your gown, smiling as he comments, "Slytherin colors."

"You know," Hyunjin turns to you, "I was going to get a red suit but they were incredibly ugly so I'm settling for a handkerchief."

You smile up at him, "It's okay, the sentiment is there."

Minho dismisses himself when he spots a cat swaying between dancing feet. Its eyes are wide with fright as it stares up at the unfamiliar faces in search of its owner. Seungmin smiles fondly as he watches the boy pick up the cat, delicately taking it out of the room.

"Where are Thing One and Thing Two?" Hyunjin inquires, leaning against the bar.

You scan the hall. "I'm not sure. Changbin said he'd be here. Jisung might skip out."

Seungmin laughs unexpectedly, receiving a few confused glares in return. He soon clarifies after taking a sip of water, "I was thinking about Changbin having a date. Weird."

He certainly doesn't have a date. When he arrives, the ball is nearly over and his tie is messily made up.

"Did you get dressed in the dark?" Seungmin stares as he approaches.

"Yes, actually. Long story."

A slower song comes on. It's a change in scenery from the previous publike songs. Hyunjin offers you his hand, dramatically asking, "May I have this dance?"

Your hand slips into his, "You may."

He guides you to an empty spot near the edges of the dance crowd, swiftly tucking his arms around your waist. You nestle yours around his neck. For a few seconds, you stare into his big brown eyes, watching as the twinkle shifts in the light. You fight a smile.

"What's the smile for?"

"Nothing," you say, pressing your cheek to his chest so you can grin in peace.

He sighs, though a vibration in his chest tells you he's also laughing. "I know we tease each other a lot, but I love you."

Your heart skips a beat and your breath clogs up in your throat, though your smile never falters. Each day that has passed, it has grown harder to fight saying those words. When you return them, you feel lighter. As though you have relinquished thirty pounds from your shoulders.

"Don't tell anyone I'm getting sappy with a Gryffindor," he fake gags.

"Same to you, snake."

You smile in these moments. With music guiding your feet and a boy who warms your heart, despite his stereotypically shivering attributes. He rests his chin atop your head as he repeats those cursed words, grounding you with him more and more each time. He's yours. And you're his.

Perhaps it's always been that way.


	5. gravitational pull - seo changbin

→genre: brief fake dating, childhood friends to weird enemies to fake lovers to real lovers  
→synopsis: he was a glimmering star of hope until he exploded, suspending your relationship into a seesawing gravity.  
→pairing: changbin x gender neutral reader  
→word count: 8.1k  
→warnings: bully hyunjin, mentions of alcohol

i.  
Mulch crunches beneath the adolescent shoes of your classmates. One intention is shared, in this playground warfare, and it’s to get a swing.

You disregard the heap rushing towards the ones closest, for your gaze is set on the far end of the swingset. And it is just within your reach. Your eyes narrow as you outstretch a palm, prepared to feel the coolness of the rusty chain.

The chain sways away from you beneath the harsh touch of another boy.

You stare at him with wide eyes, mouth fallen agape.

He smiles, the plastic seat dipping beneath his weight. “This one’s mine.”

A small shake in your tone as you return, “I was here first.”

“So? Everyone knows this is my swing.”

You slowly nod, taking small footsteps backwards. Hwang Hyunjin is bigger than you. And more accustomed with goons of friends. There’s no point in fighting.

Though as you start for the abandoned monkey bars (their vibrant red paint chipped to a sad haze) with blurry vision faulting your path, a voice booms over the rush between your ears.

You glance in the direction. A short boy sits in a stationary swing, smiling as though it is all he’s ever known. He waves you over.

Taking all of the precautions, you glance over your shoulder to make sure he’s talking to you. When you confirm, you drag your feet along the mulch.

You flinch when he stands, bringing guarding forearms to protect your face. The blow never comes.

“You can take my swing,” he says. You peek at him through your shield. His puffy cheeks are still indented with the smile. And his hands, not balled into a fist, lay calmly at his side.

You blink, slowly lowering your defense. “W-Why?”

He laughs, “That’s what friends are for. Duh.”

The laugh that trembles over your lips is shaky and foreign. You reach for the chain.

“I’ll push you!” he declares, rushing behind you as you steady yourself in the small seat.

He pulls you from the ground, the tips of your shoes trailing back amber woodchips.

The tip of your nose kisses the blue sky. Though, inevitably, the time comes when you must fall back to the earth. Steady hands push against your back, returning you to freedom. You find yourself grinning each time.

The next day, Changbin saves you the swing beside him. He waits until you are ready before kicking off on the ground. You swing in sync, sharing a few glances under the sun’s hugging rays.

It only takes a week before he’s begging his mother to arrange a playdate. And to your luck, he follows through with the promises, meeting you at your doorstep that Saturday. He guides you a block over to his house. He must be a good kid if his mother entrusted him with such a task, bringing two first-graders over. One returning home and one in need of a home away from home.

His mother is extremely nice, smiling at you each time you catch her eyes. She sets a plate of fruit on the coffee table while you and Changbin battle over the next Spongebob episode. His sister comes out of her room, too, asking you whether you prefer Barbies or Matchbox.

Elementary school passes like this. Recess is spent with his presence, as is lunch and gym and any class freetime. On the off days that it rains, barring you inside the school, you play Mancala. It’s totally civil. Not once does Changbin storm off when he loses. He merely shrugs and offers to set up the next round.

So unusual, though each time you find yourself smiling.

After an emotional graduation party—emotional for the teachers and family, you mean—he hands you a small piece of paper.

“What’s this?” you curiously look at him. His tie has loosened since the ceremony and his hair is ruffled by his father’s hand.

“My phone number. I won’t be in town this summer, but I still wanna keep touch with you.”

You smile down at the small digits. Neatly, you fold the post-it before slipping it into your pocket. You wrap your arms around his neck, leaning into his touch as he wraps his arms around your waist. “I’m gonna miss you,” you announce, voice muffled by his shoulder.

“It’s only one summer,” he reassures. “Plus, I’ll bring you back something nice. A keychain or something.”

You laugh through the sting that stabs your body, nodding. One summer cannot mark the end of the world, you tell yourself as you watch his car drift over the hill leading into town.

ii.  
On the first, dreaded, day of middle school, you scan the halls carefully. The new faces do not scare you as much as the lack of his does. Each call was sent to voicemail. And each time the dial sounded, you frantically returned the phone to the receiver. Maybe he had accidentally miswrote the number. Or maybe he was too busy to return your calls. Summer has that effect on people, you think, where you have so much fun you forget the things you used to do daily. Like a memory disorder.

You finally see him in the lunch line. A breath of fresh air invades your lungs as you rush over to him.

“Changbin! How was your summer? I called, but you never answered,” you grin, nudging his shoulder.

He does not shoot you a glance, nor does he send a glare. Instead, he keeps his eyes glued on his shoes. A sharp pain strikes your chest—that breath might have been poison.

You gently shove his shoulder again, forcing a shaky laugh as you continue, “Hello? Anyone in there?”

The boy in front of him spins on his heel. His eyes are cold, painful, as they meet yours. “Can’t you tell he doesn’t wanna talk to you?” Hyunjin scoffs. “Go somewhere else, dumbass.”

Hesitantly, you look to Changbin. Surely, he’ll defend you, right?

Right?

His eyes have traveled to the lunch menu, displayed on a TV in cheap font. Far away from this conversation.

You nod, looking back to Hyunjin. His abrasive eyes are still waiting for you, eagerly begging you to move on. “Sorry, then,” you murmur as you start for the bathroom that will become your haven.

Behind you, Hyunjin’s loud laugh taunts you. Hidden beneath it is a quieter one that stabs you in the chest. Something painful blurs your vision, twists your insides, and curls the corners of your lips as you try to fight it.

You were a fool to think he was different. Elementary promises should never be trusted.

Secondary school passes in dreary blinks. Watching Changbin run for class president. Bubbling in his name despite everything. Hearing Changbin got the lead role in Cinderella. Showing up despite the physics test you had to study for.

You wonder momentarily if Newton was behind this twisted feeling in your chest. Drawing you to him—like a moth to a flame. You even scan his sister’s Instagram from time to time, finding a picture of Changbin framed carefully beneath the stars, a twinkle in his eye.

You watch from afar as he accepts his diploma, a careful smile seated on your lips.

A bitter taste haunts your tongue as you pack for college.

“This is good for me,” you mutter to yourself. “I’ll be far, far away from him. I can move on.”

Some things are better left unsaid.

iii.  
Awkward introductions replay in your memory as you get ready for your first college class. Seven fifteen, physics with Professor Kim. Denoted as one of the best in the country. Physicist and professor, respectively. It would be a lie to say he didn’t take part in your decision to attend this college. And the ocean, which is only a fifteen minute walk (that’s what the RA told you when you moved in).

You arrive with a hot americano precisely on time.

As you climb the lecture hall’s steps, your eyes drift among the sea of unfamiliar faces. One in particular sticks out—a glimmer of hope among the trenches. You raise a hand to wave, a smile quirking your lips. But, at the face directly next to him, you drift back.

Evidently, you didn’t move far enough.

You stand at the edge of the aisle, glancing down at the empty seat. “Hey, is this spot empty?”

Hope looks back at you with shock glazing his features. “Oh my God, Y/N! Of course. I didn’t know you decided to come here,” Minho smiles, tugging his notebook closer to allow you more room.

You pull out the chair, glancing at the boy on the other side of him. “I didn’t really tell anyone where I was going.”

He fills the silence with his tales of life, occasionally glancing at Changbin to see if he wants to add something. Each time, he is met with the boy’s indifferent profile. Mindlessly scrolling through his phone, though not once stopping to read one of the passing captions or like a picture.

Professor Kim claps, fizzling any remaining conversation. The syllabus fades in your mind as you wonder how Changbin’s summer went. Maybe he spent it with his sister. Or perhaps he accompanied a love interest to a string of dates.

This thought shoots a concoction of contradicting emotions through your heart. You return distracted eyes to Professor Kim just as he’s dismissing class, burying a content fist into the customly tailored pocket of his navy suit. Minho turns to you immediately, filling your ears with proposals to coffee and lunch and maybe you could come to the dorm later and catch up. Changbin’s ears perk up as he begs for Minho’s eyes.

For a split second, his eyes fall on you before they dart away.

“I need to get back to my dorm,” you announce when you can finally slip into Minho’s breaths of pause. “My roommate’s waiting.”

“Who’s your roommate? Maybe we know him.”

You fight a laugh when he finally glances back at Changbin, who has long since given up. “His name’s Yang Jeongin.”

iv.  
While Minho is overly focused on you, begging you to tell him what happened after he moved in tenth grade, Changbin pretends you do not exist. When the conversations trail outside of the lecture hall, he clings to Minho’s side but does not speak. His eyes stay glued to the sidewalk. Or his textbook, whose cover he seems very invested in.

So when Professor Kim announces a project, your heart thumps a little too fast.

Minho grabs your arm, “Be my partner?”

Changbin kicks his leg. “Dude.”

He glances back at him, as though nothing he has said goes against him. “What? Just join our group.”

Changbin’s eyes find yours reluctantly. They ignite a spark in your fingertips as you reach for a pen. “Can I?”

You smile as your head twitches in a nod. “Of course.”

The plan is this: meet at the library on October 15th (a Saturday, you realize) at 1 P.M. “Expect to be there long, I wanna get this done ASAP,” Minho adds as he downs the rest of your americano.

When the day finally comes, despite your daily prayers that time would somehow freeze or somehow skip over the day, you leave your dorm right when you need to. Early October aids a brusque breeze, and you wrap your jacket around you as you approach the small crosswalk. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you dread the inevitable message.

Lee Minho [12:59 P.M.]: Sorry guys, I can’t make it. Mama Lee’s in town and wants to see her favorite son.

It’s too late to go home, you realize, when shoes scrape against the cement and a sigh penetrates the silence. “I cannot stand him,” the voice mutters behind you.

You turn to him, offering pitied condolences with a small smile. “Just the two of us, huh?”

He nods. “Guess so.”

A loud hum draws closer as his foot leans down for the asphalt. You look to the source, seeing a red car barreling down the street. You gasp, grabbing Changbin’s sleeve and tugging him back on the sidewalk. The horn echoes in the back of your head like an alarm.

His eyes are wide when they find yours. “T-Thank you,” he stutters, cocking his head a little. As though, for the first time, he is taking in your appearance.

You realize your grip is still tight on his wrist and you let go, tensing up. “You’re welcome.”

In the library, you work in silence. As though nothing happened outside. As though your entire history lies merely within the timespan of a few weeks. Minho serving as the mutual friend to your forced, awkward friendship.

He shoots you a dizzying look as he turns his packet to you. “Can you look this over?”

The tip of your eraser taps a number. “This has to be meters per second, not centimeters per second.”

A small sigh tumbles over his bottom lip as he realizes, “That’s why the final answer looked so weird. Thank you.”

The corner of your lip must have an opposite gravity to it, because it curls upward without intent.

v.  
Returning to class the next Monday leaves the soft hint of a calm lavender in the air. You share a quick, almost childish, glance with Changbin before settling back into the tune of physics. Newtons and joules and all the fun things that make up energy.

The next few weeks pass with a quiet hum, one that hangs in the background and, if you lose sight of it, you’re scared you’ll lose it forever. It’s a time of your life where you will look back with a sigh and whisper, “How did I not realize how good I had it?”

At your peak, you fall onto your bed on a Friday night. Jeongin scribbles impatient homework answers while your eyes fall shut.

The storm of your phone blaring its tune awakes you.

Lee Minho calls to remind you that he expects you to arrive at his ‘rager of a birthday party.’ He tells you the address, enthusiastically repeating himself (like an auctioneer) as you try to find a pad of paper. Jeongin’s jumping up to fix his hair before you even hang up.

You’re really not sure what you expect as you drag your roommate in tow towards the destination. Though, when you feel the tremble of music and hear shouts from the lawn of the frat house, you somehow know you’re in the right place.

The foyer is packed with jumping bodies. Leaning on the stairs, a red solo cup in hand, is the man of the hour. His cheeks are dusted in a light coating of heat and, as you approach him, you notice that glitter brushes soft highlights along his cheekbones.

“Happy early birthday!” you shout over the music.

He dizzily turns to you and drags you towards his chest in a swift motion. “Y/N! Thank you for coming!”

You had no choice. It was either come to the party or admit yourself to Lee Minho’s terrifying grudge list.

Despite this, you return with a grin, “Of course!”

When he lets you go into the stale air, he shoves his cup into your hand. “Try some,” he nods.

You tip the plastic to your lips. As the liquid scrapes the back of your throat, you flinch back. “What is this?” Your face twists.

“Just vodka and Coke.”

You hastily return the cup to him and glance around. Jeongin has disappeared to a desolate corner, you presume. A spark of jealousy runs through your veins.

“Where’s the bathroom?” you find yourself asking Minho.

He points down a vacant hallway and tells you it’s the last door on your left. You thank him before scurrying in that direction.

Your knock echoes, though nothing returns. The pale wood feels cold against your cheek as you listen for any life inside. You find it safe to enter. Instantly, you press your palms against the cold marble. Identical eyes stare into each other in the mirror until your eyes slip to the pale, spotless basin. You stare into the milky dome absently, pondering why you feel so odd being here. And for a moment you forget where you are, lost in the dizzying world of your thoughts.

Until you hear the choked sob from behind the shower curtain.

It takes you by surprise. Hesitantly, you reach out for the navy shield.

“Ch-Changbin?” you stutter, staring down at the boy in a mess of shock.

His legs are drawn to his chest as trails of tears line his cheeks. He lets out a squeak as he looks up to you. Arms fall to his sides as he leans forward. Though, he appears to have no intention of stopping, surrendering himself to gravity.

Your hands find his shoulders merely moments before his nose slams into the porcelain. “Are you drunk?” you whisper.

Though, in return, he sobs. “I’m sorry.”

Something pierces your chest. Your lips part to say something, but the words are clogged in your throat.

“I was such an idiot,” he slurs, swaying gently.

“What’re you talking about?” you finally ask.

His balled fist slams against the tub. “You!” he shouts, face twisting as he releases another cry.

You flinch back.

“My mom always asks how you’re doing, no matter how many times I tell her. My sister still has a grudge. Hell, even Hwang Hyunjin thinks I’m an idiot and he’s the one who tricked me into leaving you!”

He leans his cheek against the wall, once again releasing a cry. Though, this one, he fights to hold back. It scalds the air in a whimper.

Quieter, he admits, “You were the only person I’ve ever felt safe with.”

You sigh, looking down at your shoes. Those days when you wondered what had gone wrong, staring up at your blank ceiling and trying to relive his smile as quiet tears fell to your pillow, wash down the drain.

He watches intently as you climb into the tub. You do not look at him as you slowly lean against the wall he rests his cheek on. Instead, you stare at the mahogany finish of the small cabinets. Regardless, you can feel his eyes burning holes into your cheek. In this cold porcelain cage, all you can hear is the distant thumping of music and the occasional sniffle from the boy beside you. You smile at the familiarity of it, returning you to your former years cozied up on a playground. No worries back then, you jealously note with a muted snicker.

“I missed you,” you finally say. Tears blur your vision, warping the defined lines of wood into a mess of color.

When you bring yourself to look at him, his eyes are closed. You lean a little closer to see if he’s sleeping. Reluctant lips part as he whispers, his breath hot and reeking of tequila, “I missed you too.”

vi.  
One of the things you come to realize is that Changbin’s smile has never changed. There’s still that little indent where his cheeks fold over and each time he offers a glimpse at it you are returned to the days of the swing.

Thanks to the drunken night (half drunken night, you should say, since he had enough for both of you), Changbin has allowed a sneak peek back to his life. Strictly over text, though. You’re not sure why he’s never asked to meet up—maybe it’s too much too fast, you think—but you cannot find it in you to complain. He’s back after all these years and that seems to be enough.

So you endure it, texting him until the early hours of the morning and fascinating yourself over all of these things you have missed.

Seo Changbin [2:39 A.M.]: My sister and I went to the elementary school a couple of weeks ago.

Looking at your phone burns your eyes, as does the weird feeling in your chest.

Y/N [2:40 A.M.]: Really? Has it changed much?

Seo Changbin [2:40 A.M.]: The kids after us got all the cool playground equipment :(

Seo Changbin [2:40 A.M.]: I should take you there one day haha. I think that’d be fun.

You fight the giggle that wishes to flee, glancing up at a sleeping Jeongin for reassurance.

Waking up in the morning is aided with fleeting regrets, though beneath it you realize there is a small skip in your step. One that flares a heat in your face when you walk into the physics classroom and reach to meet Changbin’s eyes. And there, waiting, is his gaze and a small smile.

Maybe you have it bad for Seo Changbin, you think, as Professor Kim begins talking about Newton’s Third Law.

vii.  
Yang Jeongin is broadcasting his homework onto the cheap projector he bought on Amazon for $50. “Isn’t it so cool?” he marvels as his red pen underlines a key part of his notes.

You absently nod, glaring at your textbook. Between the lines is a screaming thought that cascades a waterfall of forget towards your upcoming exam. You fail to notice your phone buzzing against your bed. Daydreams are dangerous like that.

“Y/N,” Jeongin’s voice finally snaps you out of it. You look to him, standing at the door and lazily holding the knob. “You’ve got a visitor.”

Your heart leaps in your chest as you rush to take his spot. Before you can tug the door open, he presses a hand on your shoulder. “Be careful around him, please.”

You watch as he struts and flops down on his bed, opening a comic book above his head.

As you open the door, a little more hesitant than before the interaction with Jeongin, you smile.

Changbin is watching the end of your hall and playing with the sleeves of his hoodie. When he senses your presence, he finally breaks his trance and offers a smile. He keeps his voice low, “Can I talk to you?”

You nod, ignoring the annoying thump thump of your heart, “Sure. What’s up?”

“In private,” he adds, peeking over your head at Jeongin. Maintaining his hold on the comic book, though his eyes have drifted to you with a parental glare.

You shut the door behind you. His footsteps draw towards the common area, and you follow. There’s a silence draped over you until he abruptly stops in the middle of the hallway and turns to you. “I need you to pretend to date me.”

You blink. “W-What?”

He draws his bottom lip between his teeth momentarily before continuing, “I made a stupid bet and I kind of really need the money.”

A shroud of toughness hides your instant willingness to help. “What do I get out of this?”

His eyes radiate the innocence of a child. They draw you to a distant memory, one that you might have seen in a movie and forced into a memory, but you’re not sure. You were at his house after he broke his arm and he cried, those same eyes staring at you as he whined about how much it hurt. And how itchy his arm was beneath the cast.

Your heart softens, and you have to fight the crumbling beneath your feet.

“Whatever you want,” he assertively nods. “Seriously.”

You sigh. “Do you have a plan?”

“I always have a plan,” he smiles, pulling you into a grateful hug. His hoodie smells vaguely of ramen with a hint of sealike cologne you might find in Lee Minho’s bathroom. You find yourself smiling as your hands rest on his back.

viii.  
His hand, admittedly, feels a little odd in your hand. The last time you had held his hand was in second grade, when you went to the zoo on a field trip. Your class was already flooding into the bird exhibit with anticipation and exuberance. But you were crying your eyes out at the mere thought of seeing a parrot. (This unfounded fear is all thanks to Spongebob)

Changbin’s hand slipped into yours and slowly urged you in, mumbling that if you didn’t go you’d get stuck there forever. And then, he had whispered, the parrots might eat us alive. Even then, his hand was oddly clammy and a little sticky.

But now, as he guides you through the small neighborhood, you feel a calm mix of elation and awkwardness. Sure, this is groundbreaking material for you and your “small” crush on him. However, he’s not doing this because he likes you. He’s doing this because he needs some cash and you were a means of aiding him.

“Where are we going?” you ask, a cloud of your breath expanding from your lips. It’s only the beginning of November.

“You’ll see,” he glances over at you, a small smile painted on his pale cheeks.

There’s a small line of shrubs on your side of the sidewalk. Serving as a break in them is a metal archway, accompanied by a small wooden sign reading: Gyeonghwa Park. He turns into it, guiding you into the small fenced area. A two person swing set stands in the corner, absent seats trembling in the breeze. There’s a few wooden benches, though most are tainted in a layer of leaves.

“Ta-da,” he says, gesturing with his free arm at the small park.

You look around to the little duck statue in the corner. “I don’t mean to be rude, but why are we here again?” you turn to him. His hand burns against your skin like a constant reminder.

“I can’t take you to our playground, so I thought we could settle for here as our first fake date,” he smiles. “Plus, we need couple pictures and I think this works well.”

You’re grateful for the breeze that dashes pink across your cheeks, disguising the heat that has rushed to them at his words. “R-Right,” you stutter.

He takes a seat on a leafless bench and slips his phone from his pocket. As you reluctantly sit beside him, you watch as he sends texts to his friends. Nothing regarding you, you presume, but when he feels your eyes he quickly closes the chat.

The pictures are poised carefully, his arm resting on the top of the bench behind you, your head tilted towards his as you smile. Without warning, he presses his lips to your cheek as the shutter clicks. You try not to make your flinch obvious.

He pulls back, smiling slightly as he inquires, “Should we kiss to seal the deal?”

Fire poisons your veins as you stare back at him. The invisible mark his lips had left sizzles in the air. “Do you think we should?” you whisper.

He shrugs. “It’ll make it a bit more believable. We don’t have to if you’re not comfortable, though.”

You shake your head. “No, it’s fine. Kiss me.”

The corners of his lips upturn a little further, sending a shiver down your spine—though maybe it was just the wind. He readjusts his phone, glancing to assure you’re both in frame, before leaning in. At first, his lips merely wander in the air before yours, as though he is thinking about the best way to do this. But then, confident lips press against yours. His touch melts away the numbness in your fingers, the shiver of the cold. In this moment of freedom, you wonder if he had ever wondered what your lips tasted like. Because you sure have.

ix.  
Each of your fake dates is constructed with careful attention to detail. A trip to the movies (seeing a film you had mentioned wanting to see very briefly over text). A study ‘date’ that didn’t really feel romantic, though he brought you an americano and a fancy pen he stole from his dad’s work.

But your date today is very special.  
The diner is filled to the brim with hungry college students and elderly couples. In the back, bunched up against the upholstery, are Changbin’s friends. They throw their heads back to laugh as one tells a stupid joke. Changbin leads you down the aisle slowly. He squeezes your hand, whispering over his shoulder, “Thank you, again, for doing this. It means a lot.”

You smile against your will,“That’s what friends are for.”

As you approach, the new and familiar faces turn to you. Some hold smiles, others hold gaping lips.

“I didn’t think you actually found someone willing to date you,” a boy marvels.

“Let alone Y/N! How come I didn’t know you were dating?” Minho shouts, garnering certain harsh looks from neighboring booths.

A glimmering smile finds your lips as you slide into the booth beside him, “You never asked.”

He scoffs. “Am I supposed to ask when anything life-changing happens?”

Changbin files in beside you, sighing, “Not necessarily, but you talk a lot.”

“How long have you been dating?” a boy across from you asks. His cheeks are dusted with light freckles, and a friendly smile paints across his lips.

“Nearly two months,” you glance at Changbin, who nods. The finer details, he stressed, must be known like the back of your hand. A single hair out of place could be the end.

“Are you serious?” Minho booms. His eyes are wide and his lips are parted. Even his eyebrows raise in awe, scratching dull wrinkles across his forehead.

“You do talk a lot,” you mumble.

Before Minho can have the chance to shout profanities aiding his awe, another boy sighs. “Shut up and congratulate them, okay? This is karma for laughing at him when he wanted in on the bet.”

“Thank you, Chan,” Changbin smiles, wrapping an adept arm around your shoulder. Instinctively, you lean into his touch, resting your head on his shoulder.

As the night unfolds, queued by digging questions and the occasional groan from Minho, you nearly forget that this is an act. That when Changbin presses a kiss to your forehead it’s not real.

Outside of the diner, as his friends disperse into their means of transportation, he cups your cheeks and presses a soft kiss to your lips. When he parts, there’s a small smile and a gloss hanging over his eyes. “Thank you,” he whispers.

x.  
He promises to pick you up at five. All that remains is the reward, you realize. A simple favor has brought you here, waiting impatiently for his knock on your door. Your heart beats harshly against your chest.

“Why are you even messing with him?” Jeongin mutters, stirring his ramen with the tips of his chopsticks.

You glance up at him, sighing, “I’m not messing with him. I’m doing him a favor.”

“Yeah, but, why? He’s an asshole, Y/N,” he shakes his head. As he shoves the steaming noodles into his mouth, he hisses at the heat and tilts his head to the side.

You watch him as he gulps down water.

At your prolonged silence, he adds, “When is he supposed to pick you up?”

You tap your phone screen, illuminating the time. “Five minutes ago.”

Jeongin drowns his harsh words with more noodles. Though, in between bites, he says, “Maybe he’s standing you up.”

The thought has crossed your mind, though a hollow in your chest wants to believe he wouldn’t do that. Friends, if that’s what you are, don’t do that.

Seconds drift into minutes. And minutes turn into an hour. Jeongin’s gone through three more ramen cups. Your lips ache as you nervously bite them, jumping for your phone at each notification.

At half past six, Jeongin rests into your bed beside you. “I’m sorry,” he whispers as he wraps a cautious arm around your shoulder.

Though, you do not feel anything aside from the irritation blurring your eyes. “Are you okay?” he asks. These simple words open the floodgate.

xi.  
His eyes avert yours as though they had never known you in the first place. Minho doesn’t say anything when you lower yourself in the seat beside him. Instead, he cautiously slips you a small note. Large, scratchy words read: are you okay?

You crumble the note in your palm before tucking it into your bag. He does not bother you for the rest of class. Class travels by in gruelling moments. Professor Kim’s voice seems slowed, stripped of any tone. When he finally dismisses class, warning that the semester is ending soon, you haphazardly shove your things into your bag and leave.

Over your shoulder, you hear a low smack and Minho mutter, “What the hell is the matter with you?”

It hurts to admit, given that you had known from the beginning, but Seo Changbin used you. Though, despite the anger you should be feeling, you can only find yourself wondering what he needed the money so badly for.

Back at the dorm, Jeongin silently pulls a piece of cake from the small fridge and hands it to you. “Here,” he mumbles. “My friend made it for you.”

You look up at him. “Why?” Your voice is raw from desuetude, crackles like an old radio.

Jeongin bites his lip, eyes slipping to your comforter. “I told him you were having a rough time. Plus, he knows Changbin, so he knows the story.”

You take the paper plate in your fingertips, dragging it toward you. You poke the delicacy with the tip of your fork. “What’s the story?”

A sigh slips past his lips. “That you guys dated and you broke up. That’s all Changbin told them.”

You nod. He must’ve gotten the money and thrown you away.

Your phone buzzes against the mattress. Jeongin leans over to check who it is. When his eyes meet yours again, he informs, “It’s just Minho.”

So you allow yourself to look at your phone.

Lee Minho [9:20 A.M.]: I’m outside your dorm. Let me in please.

You look up to the door, though your energy is below zero. Jeongin grabs your phone, reading the message, before going to answer the door.

“Hey, Jeongin,” Minho pushes past him. He sits at the foot of your bed. “What happened?”

You blink, eyes staring into his absently. “What?”

“With Changbin. Tell me what happened, please. He won’t tell us anything and I’m starting to get worried for both of you. He’s never this quiet and you’re never this sulky,” he reluctantly rests his hand on your knee.

You look at Jeongin, who stands there with arms against his chest. He shrugs, silently telling you it’s up to you.

You sigh. “Where do I start?”

“The beginning, preferably.”

“I think I fell in love with him, but I can’t tell you when. Maybe it was when we were kids. Maybe it was at the party when he apologized,” you slowly say. The words do not feel like yours. A small pit rumbles in your stomach, begging you to continue. “He wanted a favor, to pretend to date him for that bet you guys made. I didn’t ask why he needed the money or why I should do this for him, given all he did to me. I just went with it. And things were great, as far as fake relationships go.”

In your break of silence, you find yourself smiling at all the fake dates. You wonder if the pictures still live in his phone or if he discarded them the moment he got rid of you.

“So you guys faked the whole thing?” Minho’s eyebrows furrow.

You nod. “He was supposed to pick me up on Saturday, but he stood me up. And now we’re here.”

Minho blinks. “Either Changbin’s a good actor or he’s a fucking asshole.”

“It’s the latter,” Jeongin announces as he crosses to his bed.

Minho shakes his head. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Don’t tell him what I said,” you rush. “About loving him or anything.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

After he leaves, Jeongin loudly sighs. “I knew you were in love with him.”

You look at him, slowly nodding, “I didn’t really make an effort to hide it.”

xii.  
There are tears irritating your skin as you pull yourself out of bed. Surviving off of Felix’s cake and Jeongin’s ramen cups is less than attractive, but you cannot build enough will to leave your dorm. You ask Minho to take notes in physics for you and he quickly obliges, no questions asked. 

Changbin, still, plagues your mind like venom. Each time you think maybe a nap is in order, you shut your eyes and see his smile. Or you’ll think of his lips on yours as he smiles into the kiss. Your eyes shoot open, chest rising heavily. Even when you stare at your ceiling too long, your brain deems it a screen for a memory to play. Casted like Jeongin’s cheap projector.

There was this once, in fourth grade when you grew bored of the swings so you relocated to the plastic blue tunnel. He blocked off one end while you took the other. On hotter days, you’d lay on top of the tunnel. One day, he looked at you across the plastic and asked, “Do you ever think we’ll be grown ups far away from each other?”

You shook your head so confidently. “No. We’re gonna live together. Like roommates.”

Jeongin comes home from his classes with a cup of coffee. He sets it on your nightstand as he whispers, “I’m spending the night at Chan’s tonight. Call me if you need anything.”

You take a sip of the americano. “Thanks, have fun.”

In his wake is a dreaded silence that reminds you of Changbin’s laugh. Time has only plagued it with a dash of depth.

Your phone buzzes. Hesitantly, you roll over and grab it. The metal is cold against your fingers.

Lee Minho [4:29 P.M.]: Hey, I need you to come to the beach. There’s something I want to show you.

The thing that tipped you over the edge when looking for a college was the beach. As you carefully scouted, the grains of sand kept drawing you back. It’s ironic as you realize that you haven’t been once, despite its proximity. You can already feel the bitter cold against your cheeks as you rise from your bed. Dots of dizziness scatter across your eyes.

The mid November air is cooler than you expected as you step out of the complex. You shove balled fists deeper into your hoodie pocket.

The walk to the beach is shorter than you had expected, only passing ten minutes. You see Minho waiting on the wooden slats leading to the sand. He jumps to preserve his heat.

“Hey,” you call out to him.

He looks to you, daring to unveil a pale hand as he waves. When you’re closer he says, “It’s fucking cold out here.”

You nod, looking out onto the vacant sand. Huddled like a speck of trash is a small figure.

“Why’d you want to meet out here?” you return to look at him, a piercing cold slashing your heart at the realization.

His face softens as he glances out towards the black speck in the sand. “Well, he wanted to meet you here but he wasn’t sure if you’d come if he texted. So he dragged me out here.”

You find yourself laughing. “And you agreed?”

“I didn’t know it was negative twenty out here,” he mutters. “So go and talk to him so I can get back in my car.”

You smile. Your heart thunders against your chest and, even though you know you shouldn’t, your feet move towards the small figure. He tugs you in, time and time again.

You glance over your shoulder when you reach him. Minho’s already gone, as though his presence was merely a ghost. You squat next to Changbin, wrapping your arms around your knees.

He looks at you, though you keep focused on the pale water. Brushing up on the sand, pulling back into the ocean.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

You nod. “You always say that.”

“I really am,” he admits. “I know you probably think I’m an asshole, reasonably so, but I really am sorry for everything.”

You finally look at him. “What’d you need the money for?”

He’s taken aback. He had expected more of a heartbreaking confession, a perspective he had not once explored. “Music equipment,” he says. “It’s really for me, Chan, and Jisung.”

You nod, looking back at the water. “I was just a ragdoll so you could get that.”

“Not really,” he whispers. “It was kinda a double positive for me.”

Furrowed eyebrows turn back to him.

“I got the money,” he starts, “and I also got the luxury of pretending to be yours.”

You blink. Your voice is small, barely audible over a gust of wind, “What?”

“Every time I did something stupid that got in between us, I always knew I’d find my way back to you. I was the tide and you were the moon, reaching out and tugging me back into reality. Time and time again, as we’ve come to understand,” he nods, glancing at his red fingers, bitten by the air.

You stare at him. “So why do you keep pushing me away?”

He shrugs. “There was always the fear that you didn’t want to bring me back.”

You scoff, remembering your childhood and the way he kept drawing you closer. You shake your head, words failing you.

“So truly, I am so sorry. You still have your end of the deal, you know. You get whatever you want. You can tell me to fuck off and I’ll go home. Sure, I’d be a little heartbroken, but-”

You cut him off, “Why would I ever do that?”

“Because I treat you like shit to fuel this stupid ideology that you don’t hate me,” he admits. “Even when I don’t try to be, I’m a selfish asshole. I only kissed you because I wanted to, not because of the stupid pictures for the bet. I only asked you for the favor because I wanted to paint this stupid little picture in my head. I only stood you up because I couldn’t bring myself to face you and admit that my stupid fantasy was over.”

“That’s not selfish,” you say. “That’s just very Seo Changbin of you.”

“I really cannot tell if you hate my guts or not,” he sighs, picking up a handful of sand and watching as it trickles down again.

You shake your head. “Minho didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

You look back at the empty space where the ghost once stood. A sigh of a distant nostalgia slips from your lips—the times you’ve pictured this moment over and over in your daydreams. However, you did not imagine the bitter bite of the wind nipping at your cheeks. “That I’m in love with you.”

“You what?” he gawks, leaning a bit closer. As though his ears deceive him.

Your eyes return to his as you nod. “I love you. I probably have since we were kids. That’s the only reason I agreed to your favor. Because I, too, wanted to be a little selfish.”

His lips slowly curl up into a smile as he releases an abrasive laugh. “How much did Minho pay you to say that?”

“He didn’t. I’m being completely honest. Why else would I be here if I wasn’t stupidly in love with you, huh?”

“Really?”

“Yes, now can we speed this up? It’s fucking cold out here.”

He presses his lips against yours. You expect them to mold against yours like they had in previous weeks, but now they are fiery. It sends tingles down your spine as he cups your cheek. With those internal feelings finally suspended from your body, you can sigh a breath of relief.

You wonder if younger you would be proud.

xiii.  
“Are you guys actually dating now or are you just fucking with us again?” one of Changbin’s friends, Jisung, asks as you slide into the same booth as a few weeks ago.

“They are,” Minho intervenes. “I watched them confess and everything. Like a minister.”

“Bullshit,” you mutter. “You went back to your car as soon as I got there.”

Changbin’s laugh tickles against your ear as he scoots in next to you.

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing we didn’t revoke the award,” the freckled boy, who you’ve now concluded is Felix, observes.

“Why?” Jisung asks, bringing the straw of his soda to his lips.

“Because we would have had to give it right back.”

His friends are very welcoming of you, despite the deception that marked your first greeting. Chan catches you in the parking lot as Changbin and Jisung fight over the extra mint the server placed on the table.

“I just want you to know,” he starts with a smile, “that he really loves you. It’s not a front, I promise.”

Your eyes crinkle at the corners as you ask, “Those are suspicious words. How should I trust you?”

“Because he talks about you all the time. I know more about your childhood than I know about mine. Plus, he’s written three songs about you and we don’t even have the equipment to record anything yet.”

You laugh, “You’re in luck, then.”

His eyebrows furrow. “Why?”

You smile, shaking your head. “You’ll find out.”

Changbin returns to your side, a sullen scowl pressed against his lips as he watches Jisung pop the mint into his mouth. Chan dismisses himself to attend to Felix attempting to teach Minho a taekwondo move.

You look over at Changbin, “You’ve written songs about me?”

His eyes widen, “No? Why would I ever do that?”

A giggle bubbles up from your stomach as you shake your head, starting off to his car. Behind you, he repeats the same question urgently.

xiv.  
Seo Changbin is like a pest that flies around your head, begging your attention at all moments of the day. He invited you over to his dorm so you could study together, though when you arrived with your textbook and notes, he appeared offended.

“What?” you asked as you settled on his bed, fluffing pillows before leaning against them.

“Studying doesn’t mean studying, it means cuddling,” he pouted.

It’s lucky for him that Minho isn’t home because if he ever heard those words falling from his lips, he’d never hear the end of it.

So that’s why you’re laying your head on his pillow, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as you read over your notes.

“What’s the formula for Newton’s law of universal gravitation?” you quiz him when you feel his arms start to loosen with the temptation of sleep.

He hums, “I don’t know. You’re the one with the strong magnetic force. Shouldn’t they call it Y/N’s law of universal gravitation?”

You sigh, setting the spiral notebook on his nightstand before you turn in his arms to face him. The hint of a smile already greets you. You press a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. “What’s your grade in physics?”

He looks up at the ceiling as he pretends to think. “38.”

“What?” you hiss, pulling back away from him as though he has an illness you didn’t know about.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” he whines, pulling you back. “I only signed up for the class because it reminded me of you.”

You smile. “Why?”

He shyly pouts, “I may have gone out of my way to hear about you when we were in high school.”

“And you never thought to apologize?” you counter, your smile still reigning.

“You looked like you were doing fine without me,” he shyly admits.

“Changbin,” you shake your head. “I had no friends after Minho moved. I chased after you, thinking maybe something would happen.”

He closes his eyes. “Tell me you didn’t see me in Cinderella.”

“I saw you in Cinderella,” you laugh.

He throws his head back and whines. “The pants they put me in were two sizes too big.”

The memory of him standing on stage and having to hold up his pants, disguising it by having his hands on his hips, brings another laugh to the air. “Did they really not have any clothespins or anything?”

“No!” he exclaims, looking back into your eyes. “Fucking Hyunjin was hoarding them all!”

You feel the vibrations of your laugh against the pillow. It’s good being like this, having him tethered close.

He’s in the middle of saying something, probably further pursuing his complaints about high school or Hyunjin, but you do not care. You press your lips against his. A moment of stillness, thanks to his shock, before he kisses you back.

The only word to describe this feeling brewing in your stomach: bliss. Pure, hot bliss.

You hope gravity will keep you grounded here.


	6. summer love - lee minho

→genre: vacation au, strangers to lovers, a teeny bit of angst  
→synopsis: lee minho had randomly appeared on your vacation to a lake/campground. he was everywhere, until he wasn't.  
→word count: 11.1k  
→pairing: minho x fem. reader   
(featuring yeji and yuna (itzy) & BooSeokSoon + mingyu (seventeen))

i.

Sunlight breaks past the slightly tinted window, crossing your eyes in a swift blinding act. You blink away, turning back into the busy car. The boy driving waves a dismissive hand back at the whining boy behind him.

"We're not stopping for coffee," the driver asserts, eyes drifting up to the rearview mirror as he shifts into the exit lane.

"Why not?" the boy behind him counters. "We're gonna pass it anyway."

"We're going camping," the girl beside you leans forward to smack her palm against the boy's shoulder.

"It's not really camping if we're gonna be in a house," he pouts, turning back to her. He even shoots a pleading gaze in your direction, as if you would have any power over this conversation with people you've briefly met.

You glance back to the blurred trees. They pass in what feels like hundreds every time you blink. Why does this have to be the last summer of freedom? Why can't time just slow down and allow you a final year of peace? An almost taunting desire to live adventurously strikes your mind. Yet even so, you're not sure you should have accepted this "camping" offer.

Yeji was certain this summer would be legendary, gripping at your shirt sleeve as she pleaded, "But please, come with. I don't think I can live with Soonyoung and Seungkwan for two weeks."

So you succumbed. Only with the faint certainty that something must come from this. Even if it was only a mundane, fleshy scar from a messy jump into the lake. You could picture a rock piercing your skin before you flinched up to water, threads of blood coursing behind you.

God, you need to live a little.

"Y/N," Yeji whines, dragging your mind back into the car.

You hum, looking over to her. Her sunglasses sat delicately on the tip of her nose, tempting to fall at the slightest twitch downward.

"Tell Seungkwan to stop his coffee cries."

"I just met the guy," you whisper, shooting a cautious glance at the pouting boy. His knees are drawn to his chest as he tempts his focus with a YouTube video.

"But you're intimidating," her lips are pursed when you return to her.

You fight a laugh. "That's a funny one."

Yuna, somehow tricked to sit in the trunk of the minivan, leans over the seat. "You are kinda scary."

They lead a powerpoint that must have been established prior to this conversation, for the specifications seem a little too clear. By the end of it, you simply shake your head. Intimidating is a strong word. You are simply quiet, you tell yourself.

The campsite is a desolate piece on the outskirts of a fancy city known for its grand skyscrapers and business opportunities. Columnar trees line a restricted area, where animals freely prance, protected by the idea of hunting. There are trails, the ranger told them when they checked in, that led to varying sights. A broad lake glitters beneath the humid sun. On top of that, clouds string themselves in sparse bursts.

At the cabin, Soonyoung and Seokmin bustle for the room with the best view.

"Hey," Yuna scolds, lugging her overfilled duffel bag on her shoulder, "Shouldn't you let the women choose first?"

For a quick moment, their eyes scan each other's faces before unisonly shaking their heads. "No."

You slip passed their noses into a barren room. White curtains inwardly swing from the impatient breeze. A deep breath parts from your lips as your eyes fall to the dark hardwood. Two weeks, you tell yourself. That's not too bad.

Deep laughter seeps from outside, sending an awakening jolt down to your feet. You lean towards the window, spotting a few boys on the lake's shore. One is chasing another with the claws of an angry crab.

"Get away from me!"

"This is karma," the other calls, kicking up lofts of sand in his wake.

In awe, you stare as the slightly shorter man catches up with the taller. Maybe two weeks will be more difficult than you thought.

ii.

A routine falls into place within the first few days. You awake before the crowd and sit on the dock for an hour. Maybe a little more, depending on the breeze. Then, you return to the cabin and sit on the porch swing, gently swinging your feet. Mingyu slips out into the humid air shortly after, his sweatpants bunched up by his ankles from sleeping.

"Do you wanna go swimming with us?" he will ask.

Your heart momentarily flutters before it dims to a burdening mass. "Maybe tomorrow."

He asks if you are sure, though he knows you will give the same nod, lips pressed into a polite smile.

You take to spending days alone, watching the clouds travel hastily across the blue sky and discreetly viewing the boys next door wreak havoc. It's calming, you remind yourself when you get the urge to accept Mingyu's offer, to be alone.

Each of your temporary roommates slips from the cabin in duos or trios. Soonyoung likes to rest an arm around whoever he's with, you notice, as though he's scared of losing them to an imaginary void. He always shoots you a smile before disappearing to wherever that day's activities bring.

On the fifth day, Yuna and Seokmin disappear on a hike with a whining Seungkwan on their tail. "It's so hot out here," he mutters as he passes you on the swing. Soonyoung and Mingyu rush to the water, shouting something about beating the mischievous boys in the cabin beside yours. Hair tied into a ponytail, Yeji steps onto the porch. She cups a 24-hour cooling bottle, taking sparing sips.

"Let's go to the lake," she sighs, sitting next to you. The teal outdoor pillows stutter beneath her weight before conforming to her shape.

You glance at her, though she doesn't turn to you. She speaks as though it's an order, not an offer.

Disturbed by your silence, she pushes, "C'mon, we've barely hung out at all. You're all solitude. We don't have to swim or anything. We can just sit on the sand."

A bitter sigh escapes your lips before you dredge into the cabin. Yeji resembles a home in this pool of unfamiliar faces, and you feel as though you can't deny her this. You pull on a bathing suit, despite her settled tune saying you didn't have to swim, and tug a pair of shorts on.

By the time you return to her, a green beach towel slung over your arm, she sits with her sunglasses veiling her eyes. Her head is upturned, looking at the birch porch ceiling. You hesitate, concerned that she might have fallen asleep, when her head twitches toward you. "Ready?" she asks, gathering her cup.

You slug towards the lake, basking in the sun's warm rays. It's not as humid as you thought it might be. A small, shaky breeze brushes against your bare shoulders.

"How's rooming with Soonyoung?" you finally say.

She sighs. "Terrible. He snores like crazy. I'm starting to regret giving you the single."

You chuckle, "It could be worse."

"How?"

"You could share a room with Soonyoung and Seungkwan."

"Oh, God," she shivers, despite the heat beaming down.

Sand invades beneath the comfort of your toes. Scalding heat shoots up your ankle as you hesitantly step. Purchasing cheap flip-flops was probably a mistake.

"Dude, I will drown you right now," Mingyu shouts.

Yeji leads you closer to them, stopping when only a couple feet barricade you from the water. She lays out her towel before tugging on her shorts' button. You follow her lead. Thoughtless, you step towards the dock, abandoning your belongings on your towel. The dock is about ten feet long, though its width bares close to six feet.

The water sways with each swing of Soonyoung's arm. You take a seat at the edge, dangling your feet until they graze the water. It's cool in contrast to the blistering grains. Mingyu pushes Soonyoung's head underwater with a broad grin. Water bubbles to the surface from Soonyoung's parted lips.

Shouts garnish the calm breeze. You glance over your shoulder. Yeji is laying flush against her towel, her eyes closed as she calmly begs for a tan. Behind her, a few running boys approach, some shedding their tops as they run.

"Minho! Give me my phone back!" a boy whines. You note that he's the same one who was being chased by a threatening crab. And the one he calls to, he glares over his shoulder with a shake of the head, is the chaser.

Minho turns back to his objective of the water before abruptly turning right, dragging the follower down the shore. His menacing laughs glide through the air, sending a sharp chill down your spine.

Begrudgingly, the chaser catches him, prying his phone away. In the distance, he looks like he presses a palm against Minho's shoulder, pushing him back. Their voices do not travel, but Minho's smile caught in the glinting sun does. You turn back to the water, whose dark surface returns the view of your eyes.

"Minho!" a voice calls behind you. You fight the temptation to turn.

"What?" the boy, presumably Minho, calls back.

You drown out the voices by slipping off the dock, plunging beneath the surface of the water. When you resurface, you brush back hairs glued against your forehead. Soonyoung points to you, begging you for a game of Chicken.

"There's only three of us," you point out, a tempting smile teasing your lips.

Mingyu glances to land, disregarding the background hassle of boys playing foot volleyball. "Yeji!" he calls.

Disinterested, her head bobs up. She pushes down her sunglasses, revealing a peek at her irises.

"Play Chicken with us!"

You can hear her sigh of defeat, pushing herself up from her towel and dropping her sunglasses. She flinches beneath the water, hands reaching to either elbow as she rubs warmth into them.

You watch her intently, until a boy peeks into your view from over her shoulder. Minho is juggling a ball with his feet. A steely grin catches his lips as his friends cheer him on. "10, 11, 12!" they chant.

You plug your nose before dropping your head underwater. When you resurface, the ball is lying against the sand, the boy's shoulders slumped. Hidden behind the fake pout, his lips remain curled.

iii.

It's weird, the way that boy takes the throne in your thoughts. He is merely a stranger from afar, who sparingly shot a glance when Mingyu shouted to him. Something about owing him for the previous night's game. His eyes, sparkling beneath the blazing sun, had resembled the water. Glinting and dark, leaving you curious and needy for more. Your thoughts brace the view of his bare chest, beads of sweat dripping from his chin as he concentrates on juggling the ball.

You have to get out of your head, you conclude.

Before the sun rises on the seventh day, you're up and ready. A small bookbag is secured around your shoulders, the contents harboring copious amounts of water and a few granola bars. You glance around the cabin—at the small leather couch constituting the living room and the oak table whose legs have fraying wood, as though a dog had thought it was a bone—before you decide it's safe to depart.

Today's destination requires you to pass your parasite's cabin. You offer a short glance through the clear panes, refocusing on the gravel path when you catch a glimpse at a sleeping boy on the couch, face illuminated by his phone. It's not the boy who haunts you, you lamentably realize.

Splashes of rose and barely visible blue tarnish the sky in a messy gradient. You stop before the overhead greenery obstructs your view. In the edge of the sky, nearly fallen on the horizon, is the moon bidding its final goodbye. "Take care," it says with a sulking wave, "I'm just past the wall."

Under the blistering glimpses of heat through the leaves, you admit that you're grateful to the shrouds of protection. Humidity snips at your skin, mimicking the crawl of an insect. You swipe at your neck, though nothing lies beneath your palm. Just the damp residue of sweat.

If someone had queried you on the matter a few months ago, you would argue that solo hiking is too dangerous to be denoted as fun. Now, within the gaze of harmless deer and the occasional rabbit, you chuckle. They peek out at you from rotting logs, blinking to each other as if to seek confirmation.

A tree twenty-or-so feet away sticks out among its comrades like a sore thumb. Lesions trail its stump, marking the initials of lovestruck couples.

"You turn left at the tree of love, you'll know which one," Yuna had distractedly instructed the night before, a melting ice cream cone dripping down her fingers.

Your footsteps drown out songbirds and assemble their own tune. Each crunch of a stick signifying a beat to your journey.

The path eventually fizzles into a sad patch of grass with a podium pegged into it. Okinawa Path, it reads. Marked in 1985 by James Okinawa. Dedicated to his wife, Jiyeon Okinawa.

The horizon is curved like a bubble when you look out onto it. Leaves sway with the breeze in mass, assembling a synchronous dance. You can see the faint blue of the lake, its color lightened in the distance. If you squint a little, you can see the small ant-like figures running along its shore. Resting your hands on the metal casing of the plaque, you lean over. In the gaps of trees, a straight fall. You sigh, taking a step back.

Your stomach grumbles. It only takes a moment of peace for your chest to plummet. All that remains in your bag is an array of wrappers, food long consumed, and water. You glance at your watch. 12:19. If you left now at a pace twice which you came, you might reach the cabin at three. Maybe four, depending on how the animal's eyes draw you.

You nod, taking a final glance at the foliage and red hummingbirds plucking into bark, before heading back.

iv.

The hike, though momentarily ridding your thoughts of the boy whose laugh cast goosebumps down your spine, is rendered useless when you see him on your way back. Stood at the lake's mouth, he stares onto the water. His friends are vacant, you note, as your gaze shoots around to corners they might hide. You don't notice your feet have forgotten their trail until a cat sniffs your shoes.

His fur is soft when you dip your fingers to scratch behind his ears. Large green eyes stare up at you, leaning into your touch. You tilt your head, mumbling, "Where's your collar, little guy?"

He purrs as he slowly allows his eyes to close. You look around, catching eyes on the boy at the shore. A glimpse of a smile nuzzles against his lips, leaving you to wonder what possibly brews inside his head.

Behind you, the sound of gravel crunching beneath shoes. You swing around, searching for their eyes. A boy gapes at you, apparently frightened by your sudden movement. Then, his wide eyes minimize when he sees the cat.

Your fingers still linger by his ears, though they stop movement. He leans up, brushing his chin against them. Trying to revive their life.

"Soonie?" he finally says, eyebrows furrowing. A deep line of confusion betrays the skin between them.

The cat meows, trotting to the boy. He leaves you in his dust, as though you hold no purpose now that you've halted the affection.

He gently picks up the cat, cradling him in his arms like a baby.

"He's yours?" you ask.

His eyes jump to you and he hastily shakes his head. "No. He's my friend's. He threatened that he wouldn't come if we didn't let him bring at least one of his cats."

You chuckle at the absurdity. "Really?"

He nods. "I'm Chan, by the way. I think we're in the cabin next to you."

With the assertion of his name, realization drowns over you. "Oh! Right! I knew you looked familiar," you laugh. "I'm Y/N."

"Nice to meet you," he smiles, a dimple emblazoning his cheek. His gaze draws to the shore, where one of his friends stands.

The cat paws at his chin, begging for his attention. He ignores it. Instead, he shouts, "Minho!"

When the boy turns to him, eyebrows raised in curiosity and lips pursed, he continues. "Your cat got out of the cabin!"

Minho allows his head to hang, a smile forming. He jogs up to you two, graciously accepting his child from the older. "At least I know you'll know to escape if you get catnapped," he whispers. Absently, he scratches beneath the cat's chin, travelling him into a blaze of content. He offers you a look, almost confused as to why you're here.

"This is Y/N," Chan intervenes, "She helped stop your cat."

Minho nods, lips parting in an acknowledging 'o.' He smiles. "Thank you. He wanders sometimes."

You nod. "No problem. He's cute."

"Takes after his owner," Minho jokes.

Chan rolls his eyes, smacking his shoulder. He turns to you, "He's Minho, by the way."

You fight the instinctive 'I know' to float from your tongue. In its place you glance back to your cabin, faintly imagining Seungkwan lighting the living room on fire because Soonyoung meandered a little too long. You turn back to them, "It was nice meeting you two, but I have to run."

They see you off with a wave, watching as you speed-walk to your cabin. Minho's eyes burn a hole in your tank top. Though, it feels like nothing in comparison to the blaze searing your chest.

v.

Sleep fills the corners of your eyes like grains of sand. Incessant to remain as they are, tempting you into the peaceful bounds of sleep. The pillows didn't help. Pressing flush against your back, they mirror the puffs of clouds.

The shouts at the table, however, keeps you landlocked.

"Seungkwan!" Yuna screams after the crash of water splattering against the laminate.

"What?" he calls, his voice muffled by the bathroom door.

"Can you bring me a towel when you're done in there?"

"Why?" There's a dullness to his tone, and you picture him standing in the mirror and tuning his hair to its perfect shape.

"Because I may have spilled, like, all the water left from that jug," she returns quietly.

The door swings open, bouncing against the copper doorstop with a loud trill. You flinch, eyes shooting open. His head peeks around the corner at the puddle residing. His lips part to expel a distressed sigh and a hand flies up to scratch the back of his neck. A quick moment passes where he disappears into the bathroom and returns with two towels. Wordlessly, as though they are now in agreement, he hands her one before kneeling down and sopping up the mess.

You sit up on the couch, watching.

Seungkwan's gaze swivels back to you. He offers a small, pleading small—one you've become familiar with this past week. "Hey, Y/N." Like a younger sibling about to beg a pardon from the oldest.

"What do you need?"

"Can you run up to the Camper's Corner and get us another jug?"

Mingyu, the bearer of the keys to the minivan, has long disappeared for an impromptu fishing trip. The others, though wielding slumped gazes as they passed, followed him to the boat suddenly tied to the dock.

Yuna perks up, as though your thoughts are being broadcasted, "You can take my bike!"

Orange sky solemnly greets you when you step out from the porch. Discarded against the dark logs of the cabin is Yuna's white bike. Various stickers plaster the warm metal; some worn to nothing while others closely tug at life. When you pull at the handles and drag the hidden parts of the bike from an overgrown shrub, you notice that there is a small basket. You have to fight off the laugh that threatens you when you think of that five gallon container spilling over the small wire basket.

The leaves sing in a shaking chorus with the graces of the wind. A musk of burning firewood stings your nose. You glance to the sky at your right (where the actual tent campers stay) and see a gray plume of smoke. A lingering taste of s'mores catches your tongue. The only thing to allow the displacement of the idea is the small store whose blinding fluorescents slip out into the street.

Camper's Corner is a privately owned chain who strategically places their stores in campgrounds. Though, with the large, white metal sign bearing a small green tent, it screams out of touch. But, at least they had good prices. And a very wide variety of bug repellant (homemade!).

"Is this all?" the lady at the counter, mid 20s with a few piercings lining her ears, inquires.

You nod, straightening a bill before slipping it across the counter. She dispenses the change into the palm of your hand. That's all it takes to dismiss her to the distractions of her magazine.

The weight of five gallons was underestimated in your mind. It drags your shoulder uncomfortably to one side, and you know it'll only supplement the soreness you'll gain from the hike. You bring a hand to the metal bar at the door, though it swings open before you can meet it.

Surprised brown eyes cross yours. For a moment, the weight diminishes, and you feel nothing but the swirl of butterflies voyaging your stomach.

His weight shifts backwards as he steps out of your way, pulling you back to reality. You hurriedly step out of the store, mumbling your thanks.

You start for the bike propped against the bike rack before he calls out, "Hey, wait for me."

By the time your eyes have swiveled back to him, his spot is blank. Tarnished by the slow swing of the door coming shut.

The jug approaches the ground and you stretch, rotating your arm in apologetic circles. How did you let yourself agree to this? Why couldn't Seungkwan find you intimidating enough to not even dare ask?

The boy returns, a plastic bag dangling from his wrist. Your eyes mingle for a second before you lean to reobtain the jug. His hand darts past your hesitant fingers, claiming it effortlessly. He merely says, "You look like you're struggling."

You grab at the handles of the bike. "Something like that."

With only the sounds of footsteps and swooshing leaves, you watch the front wheel turn. Around and around. No true objective.

"Thank you, again," he finally says over the tunes of cicadas.

Too wide eyes find him, and he clarifies, "For finding my cat."

"Oh!" you exclaim. "No problem, really."

You glance down to the bag, whose contents peek back in splitting blinks through the hole at the top. "What's in the bag?" you inquire.

His voice is drunken with the subtle hint of a laugh as he answers, "Soju. For Mingyu."

"Did he guilt you into buying him some?"

His head tips to one side. "Kinda. I lost a game."

You feel nosy digging, though you cannot find the will to stop. "What game?"

"Twister."

The thought of this boy, limbs contorted into painful tugs, draws a giggle to the air. "How bad did you lose?" you find yourself asking.

He exchanges the jug into the hand with the bag, quickly drawing his sleeve up to reveal a large purple mark, green flooding the outer corners. His eyes linger on it before lifting to meet yours. "My entire weight went right there."

Lips parted in a mass of shock and amusement, you stare. Words fail you, though a bubbly laugh draws to replace it. His lips curl upward, hesitant as though he's not sure he should be living this moment.

The laughs dawdle to a small lingering smile. Only a few cabins litter the edge of the visible road ahead, though the feeling of parting already greets you. Tugging at your chest like a pestering child.

"Do you-" he starts.

"Why are your-" you inadvertently interrupt.

"Sorry, you go first," you both say in unison.

His shoulder brushes against yours as a laugh greets the trees and bunnies hidden behind shrubs. "Seriously, you go first," he manages, bringing a wrist to his eye.

"Why are your friends so loud?" you inquire. Most nights, even some mornings, you can hear their loud cackles. Sometimes, you listened in on their conversations—not because you wanted to, but because it was hard not to.

"Are we loud?" his bewildered gaze falls on you. You look up to meet him halfway, nodding. He shrugs. "I didn't realize."

The shining light from the indoor side of your cabin greets you. Like a parent greeting their child after a first date with a new, alien smile.

He gently hands you the jug. A protective hand reaches for your shoulder when you allow it to drag your shoulder a little. "You got it?"

You nod with a smile.

He turns for his cabin, and you call out, "What about your question?"

The treads of his shoes stop against the gravel. He glances over his shoulder. "I'll just ask you tomorrow."

Tomorrow, you think. He expects to see you tomorrow. The thought warms your cheeks.

"Right. I'll see you tomorrow."

His shoes scrape against the gravel again, dismissing the conversation.

You start up the porch, hand closing around the doorknob when his voice pierces the night sky. "Sleep well! I'll try to get the boys to be a little quieter."

vi.

Mingyu nearly falls from shock when he steps out onto the porch the next morning. His acquainted question slips from his tongue with an uncertain drawl, as though he is unsure what language he speaks.

"Sure. I'll tag along," you smile up at him.

He slowly nods, bringing a disguised hand to the back of his neck before he pinches the skin. Nope. Not a dream.

In thirty minutes he returns with a pink-faced Soonyoung, shirts discarded and three towels. Soonyoung hands you yours as he scans your body. He hadn't believed Mingyu, that newfound glimmer shining across your skin, but seeing it firsthand leaves him speechless.

The lake water is chilled, the sun precariously hidden behind a large white cloud. Mingyu shrieks at its touch, drawing back to the sand. Soonyoung stares at him over his shoulder, muttering, "Pussy."

Your focus reigns on the cabin beside yours. Its porch is vacant. Not even a single paw crosses it.

His promise had proven effective, for after eleven o'clock the cabin seemed muted. As if a young child had stumbled across a remote, carelessly slamming the buttons without being aware of their meaning. It brought a quick, heart-fluttering smile to your face before you pressed your cheek against the pillow and fell asleep.

Mingyu, irritated with your withdrawal from their conversation about snails, waves a hand before your eyes. When all he receives is a lost, empty stare with that absent smile, he follows your gaze. All the way up the small hill and to the cabin harboring eight boys.

He gasps, dragging a palm to your shoulder and shaking you. "Y/N," he repeats.

"What?" Soonyoung asks, trying to break into Mingyu's line of sight.

You fall back into reality, looking between them. You hum, raising your eyebrows curiously.

Mingyu stares at you with parted lips, hand grown limp on your shoulder. "Why are you staring at the enemy's house?"

"Enemy?" you ask.

"Enemy?" Soonyoung repeats.

Behind Mingyu, a boy scales down the small hill. His appearance brings a spark to your chest, alighting all your muscles. Burning your entire body.

The sun peeks out from a cloud.

Mingyu catches the sparkle in your eyes. The sudden smile tracing your lips. He glances over his shoulder.

"Minho!" Soonyoung calls, suspending a high hand to wave at him.

He waves back. His white shirt sparkles in the sunlight.

When he reaches you, he hands Mingyu the small plastic bag from the previous night. "Here. Don't think I forgot."

Pink blazes the boy's cheeks as he accepts the bag. He peeks inside.

You nudge his shoulder, "Is that why he was an enemy?"

"'Cos you thought he wouldn't hold up his end of the deal? Mingyu, you're unbelievable," Soonyoung finishes, shaking his head. He turns back to the lake, burying his feet beneath the water.

Shyly, Mingyu mumbles, "I'll be back."

He climbs the hill, disappearing into your cabin.

Minho expels a laugh. "He's funny."

He's still staring at the guarding cabin door. A smile peeks on his lips, leaving you to wonder again what he thinks of in that pretty head. Suddenly, his eyes flit to you. "Do you wanna go for a walk?"

You glance down at your bikini and cheap flip-flops. "I'm not really dressed for a-"

"You can borrow some of my clothes, if you don't wanna go into your cabin," he interrupts.

You wonder what he smells like up close. In the breeze, you had caught the brief scent of sandalwood and tea tree.

Behind you, Soonyoung digs his heel into the sand. "Go with him. Don't overthink it."

And so, taking the granted permission and running with it, you follow Minho up the hill. You lean towards his cabin, quickly mentioning, "I think Yeji and Seungkwan are still sleeping. I don't wanna disturb them."

He simply nods, guiding the way. Soonie waits at the door and tries to sneak out through the gap. Minho presses the heel of his foot against the cat's chest, pushing him back in. The cabin is quiet, save for the distant running of water. He guides you down the hall to his shared room. In the top bunk, a boy lays with his body facing the wall. Covers are drawn to his chin, shielding his identity further.

Minho offers a plain white tee similar to his—though his is emblazoned with the outline of a peace sign—and black joggers. Thankfully accustomed with a drawstring. Just as you had imagined, when you tugged the shirt over your head, it smelled woodsy. It hugs your skin, like the comfort of a flickering candle in a dimly lit room.

By the time you sneak back into the main area of the cabin, a boy leans against the kitchen counter, phone in hand. He glances up, blinking harshly when he spots you in Minho's clothes. "You have a girlfriend?" he asks, tipping his head.

Minho's only response is a scoff before he slips back into the great outdoors. You hold the other boy's gaze for a moment before following Minho quietly.

He guides you in the way of the Camper's Corner, though he takes a sharp left where you would normally keep straight. It's an unmarked path. He glances over his shoulder, as though to assert you're following.

"It's not too bad of a walk," he mentions, glancing down to your flip-flops.

After only a couple more feet, the fast splashing of water summons your ears. It pulls your gaze into its sourcing direction. A narrow creek stares back, water plummeting across sharp peaks of rocks. You gasp.

Minho turns to you, smiling when he spots the glimmer in your eyes. Similar to the one that the sun casts on the water.

He kneels close to the mud, plucking a small shell. He offers it to you. The tips of your fingers graze the smooth ridges. On the underside, little legs squirm.

"It's a hermit crab," he says.

"I know," you laugh, looking up to him.

He shrugs, "I had to tell Changbin what it was."

You stare at him, the small crab suddenly forgotten. He nods, as though to say 'I know, right?'

You gently return the hermit crab to its niche. Minho suddenly grabs your hand, pulling you back to the main road. His palm feels awkward in yours beneath the sun. Yet still, you dread the moment when it will shed itself away.

"Hey," you say. He stops, looking over his shoulder with pouty lips. "What did you want to ask me?"

The hint of a grin flashes across his lips, shining like the sun, as he shakes his head. "I already got the answer."

He turns back to the road, continuing to tug at your hand. The sound of his slides scraping against the gravel reminds you of last night.

"What was the question though?"

His grip tightens and he chuckles. "You're persistent."

"I'm just curious," you defend, inching to tug a little back on his hand.

He stops abruptly. You nearly crash into his back. He turns around to you, slipping his hand away from yours and placing it on your cheek.

You wonder if he can hear your heartbeat. Or feel the warmth against your cheek.

His eyes are barren. For a moment, you're scared he might shun you away. Until his eyes crinkle and his teeth show, lips curled in a broad grin. "You should keep those clothes," he says, moving his hand slightly to catch a wandering strand of hair. He tucks it behind your ear.

"Why?" you manage to say through the pebble strangling your throat.

"You look cute in them."

Whatever breath you managed to withhold evacuates your lungs. You're not sure if it's the lack of oxygen, but you think he's leaning a little closer.

His hesitant breath tickles your lips and you meet him at the finish line. His other hand comes to cup your cheek as he kisses you. Your missing breath is found when his tongue trails across your bottom lip.

When he pulls away, he blinks as though he has returned from a blackout. Then, a chuckle slips past his lips. You stare at him, watching as the corners of his mouth upturn.

He grabs at your hand, pulling you up the road and back to the cabins. All the way, your tongue wettens your lips to revive his taste. You bite back smiles, grateful he cannot see you.

You feel like a schoolgirl again, calm and worryless.

vii.

He holds your hand as you step off the dock. The boat trembles beneath your leg and his grip tightens. "I got you," he reassures.

You sit opposite him as he tugs the oars back. The water winks up at you in fits of sparkling sunshine.

His invite had come like a surprise, preceded by the knock on the cabin. Yeji had answered, and before he even had time to ask for you, you were there. Peeking over her shoulder like an all too curious sibling. Normally, back at the apartment, life would play out like this. Someone would arrive at your doorstep, flowers in hand and ready to steal Yeji away on a date.

Oh, how the tables have turned.

So now, you sit in a boat, slightly seasick until Minho stops pushing the oars under the water. Only the quiver of the lake keeps you with a minuscule motion.

"I didn't really plan this far ahead," he says, looking back to the distant shore. On the dock, he notes, a boy stands. Then, running up from behind, he is pushed into the water. Impact splashing back at the one who remains standing.

He glances back to you, now having missed your words. "Sorry, what'd you say?"

"I said plans are overrated," you repeat.

A smile crosses his lips, somewhat feeling like a fond glimmer of nostalgia. You will chase after that smile, begging for the faint orange of this golden hour.

He leans forward abruptly, pressing his lips to yours. You smile into the kiss. The strings of his hoodie tickle your hand as you slowly bring your palm to his cheek.

The kiss brings that golden hour into clarity with pulsing fits of orange like a heartbeat.

When he pulls away, bottom lip slightly swollen, he pulls his sleeves over his hands as he glances down to the water. He will not admit what is on his mind, though the peek of his tongue slipping over his lips tells you all you need to know.

"What's your favorite color?" you inquire casually, drawing his eyes back to you.

"Mint," he quickly answers.

You learn that he cannot swim, despite his urgency to drag you out onto the lake, and that he's an only child. He just graduated college with a degree in Computer Science, though he doesn't know what he wants to do yet. Though, he makes it clear that he will never work retail. He has two other cats who were left back home because his friends had whined enough about bringing Soonie.

You find yourself smiling as he tells you stories from his former years. How he nearly flunked his Statistics exam because he accidentally went to the wrong class for half the semester (he couldn't explain how he didn't realize because your laughs suffocated his thoughts). How his friends rely on him for certain things. How he simply lives to live.

His lips find yours again after he tells you that he has a talent for catching people off guard. You flinch a little, though laugh.

As he pulls away, his smile reaches his eyes and you catch the glimmer of comfort sprouting in your chest.

His fingertips find the oars again when a cloud threatens the sun. It dims the lake, stealing the sparkle from the water.

A sigh slips past your lips as you watch the clouds turn. Vacation ends in four days, ready to drag you back to the needy college life. You wonder if Minho will keep in touch. Certainly, you remind yourself, he will. After all, you both live in the same city, so seeing each other shouldn't be a problem.

"What're you thinking about?" Minho asks as he's reaching for the rope to secure the boat to its dock.

His cologne lingers close as he leans over you. A hug-like comfort. You shake your head when he glances down at you. "Nothing."

viii.

A large pizza sits in the center of the table, steam rising from the center. Seungkwan leans over and grabs another piece.

"Gosh, we should've ordered another one," Seokmin sighs, glancing at the two empty boxes at the counter.

Yeji shakes her head, "Maybe if you guys didn't eat so much."

You smile, leaning back in your chair to watch this unfold. Seungkwan defensively waves his hand as he bites. Soonyoung chugs water to drown his words.

Mingyu, though, stares at you. His arms are crossed against his wide chest. He leans

forward, resting them on the table. The argument fizzles, leaving the elephant in the room to be addressed.

"Mingyu, why are you staring at me like that?" you laugh.

"Why are you so lighthearted? What did Minho do to you? Did he inject you with something?"

You blink, waiting for his questions to process. "I'm just in a good mood, I guess."

"Who's Minho?" Yuna returns from the bathroom, reclaiming her seat beside Yeji.

"One of the neighbor guys. He's really cool, actually," Soonyoung informs.

Mingyu shoots him a glare, though before he can speak, Seokmin has begun, "Yeah, you have been kinda weird today, Y/N."

You shrug, shyly looking down at your sweatpants that weren't technically yours. Minho had playfully pushed you into the cabin when you had offered to return them after your lake date. His smile had blazed brighter than the sun. Warmer than the sun. You smile at the close memory.

"See?" Mingyu points accusingly.

"I think you're overreacting," Soonyoung comments, grabbing the abandoned crust from Seungkwan's plate.

Yeji nods, taking a sip from her water before adding, "Just let her have her last summer love."

Mingyu huffs, leaning back into his chair. "I don't like him."

"Too bad," Seungkwan nudges him with a teasing smile.

Nighttime falls after a tense couple rounds of Mafia. Each time, Mingyu would insist voting you off, citing that you were suspicious and simply had to be the Mafia. Even when you were the nurse. Or the cop. You hadn't gotten the mafia card at all.

Your sheets are cold when you climb into them. And though Mr. Sandman has already dragged your eyes to a laze, you cannot find dreamland. Instead, you're left to listen to the night. Distant shouts from the neighboring cabin. You smile, wondering what Minho is doing.

A huff slips from your lips and an open palm rushes to your forehead. How have you allowed yourself to fall this deep? Maybe Mingyu's right. Maybe you should take a step back. Yet still, the imprint of his lips against yours haunts you with the pull at your heart.

You roll over, tugging your covers to your chin. Like the boy in Minho's room.

A hollow noise echoes throughout your ears. It travels upward, like your window being pulled. You flinch, though fight it off. It's nothing, you tell yourself. Just the wind. Or a deer. Or maybe it's a little rabbit.

But then, your heart stops beating when the rustic-style comforter pulls away from you.

Instinctively, you shoot up, swinging your arms. One connects with the heavy meat of a human. It heaves, doubling over in pain.

You tremble, heart shattering against your ribcage. Though, you gain enough strength to reach for the lamp, pulling down on the string.

A boy is balled up on the floor, clutching at his ribs. He glances up at you, squinting beneath the sudden light.

"Minho? What are you doing here?" you whisper. You realize you're in his shirt. And his sweatpants. They're comfy, okay?

He pulls himself up to sit at the foot of your bed, still holding his side. "You have got a strong arm," he gasps for air.

"What are you doing here?" you repeat. At the loud, though distant, chant of someone's name, you add, "Shouldn't you be with your friends?"

He shakes his head. The tips of his fingers pull at the hem of his shirt to reveal his chest. A slim red mark has already formed. He drops the cloth, glancing back to you, "I wanted to see you. You're more fun than they are."

You fight a smile. "You barely know me."

He shrugs. "So?"

You look down at your lap sheepishly. "I'm sorry for hitting you so hard."

"Don't be," he reaches for your hand, pressing your fingers against his momentarily and intertwining them. "I probably should've had a better gameplan."

You can't exactly disagree with that.

"Do you mind if I stay here tonight?" he asks, glancing back out into the open window.

"No, but can you not go home or something?"

He turns back to you, lips slightly pursed. "I'm getting tired of being with them. They're kinda draining."

You know the feeling, thinking of Seungkwan and Soonyoung's full-fleshed arguments that seem to have a daily timer of 7 P.M.

And so he kicks his shoes off and curls up next to you before you turn off the light. His arm curls around you as he sighs. His breath tickles your skin, flaring small goosebumps.

You rest your ear against his chest, hearing out for the small thumps of his heart. Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

"You never told me the question," you say.

"It's not important anymore," he replies, pulling you a little closer.

Crickets swell in the silence that follows. His chest is warm, a comforting contrast to the earlier sheets. Yet still, you feel yourself asking, "Don't you think we're going too fast?"

And he simply responds, "You can never feel like you're moving too fast if you're constantly running out of time."

You hum. A response curls at your tongue, though your lips fail to move.

When you return to consciousness, the warm pillow you had rested upon is gone. The only evidence he was ever even there is the window, still open, and the wrinkles in the sheets.

ix.

He is not at the lake. He is not at the hidden creek. Maybe he's on a hike, you think. But as you pass his cabin and peek inside, your stomach drops.

The place is pristine, as though eight young men had never even stepped foot inside. You take a peek inside, scanning through all of the rooms. Nothing. Bare beds and bare halls.

His shirt itches against your skin. Not a single goodbye. Pricks of something volatile poke your skin as you realize you have nothing to contact him by. No phone number. No cringy Snapchat username he made when he was thirteen. Nothing.

You drag your feet back to your cabin, passing Seungkwan huddled over a bowl of oatmeal. His greeting distantly floats through your ears, though you fail to process it.

When you fall into your bed, sheets still indented by his figure, a hot tear scales your face. His scent is all around you, like a taunting lullaby. You jolt up, tearing the shirt off of you and throwing it as hard as you can. It caves against the wall, slipping down silently.

You pull over a different, non-Minho shirt and rest back against the mattress. Though still, he remains.

A sob clogs your throat. You want to punch a pillow. Or a wall. Or him. No, you wouldn't punch him. You cannot even find it in you to direct your anger at him. Instead, you decide, you must have done something wrong. Maybe you whispered something in your sleep that infuriated him. Maybe-

A soft knock at your door.

"I'm sorry," you sob, burying your face in the pillow as you clutch the sheets.

Beside you, the bed dips beneath someone's weight. A hand falls against your back, its fingertips tapping lightly.

You expect it to be Yeji. Or Yuna. But instead, when you look, it's Mingyu. His face is blank, not even a trace of an "I told you so" glazing it. Instead, his eyes are covered with a film of pity.

"Did you know?" you manage through the tears.

Slowly, he nods. "I'm sorry."

You shake your head. "It's not your fault."

He pulls you into a hug, and you're glad that his scent does not resemble Minho's. Mingyu smells only like cotton. Freshly washed cotton.

"He's a dick, not telling you he was leaving," he says, drawing a hand up to your head.

Seungkwan's voice drenches the room with bitterness. "Who the fuck hurt you? I will kill-"

Mingyu looks back at the boy standing in the doorway. He shakes his head, beckoning the boy to leave. And he does.

You're grateful for Mingyu.

x.

Only three days remain in your vacation, yet each second is more brutal than the last. Dried tears glue strands of hair to your cheeks. At night, Mingyu comes in and lays with you, rubbing small circles into your back as he tries to make you laugh. Yeji stands in the doorway, confused arms crossed against her chest.

The day before you leave, Yeji stops at your bedside and whispers. "We can leave today."

You look up to her, shaking your head slightly. That's all the energy you have to do. Your voice is a croaking mess when you bring yourself to say, "Don't let me ruin your fun, please."

The final day, as set aside on the drive here, is a day of fun. Hiking and swimming and laughter. Though you remain in bed, sheets pulled to your chin as your fingertip rubs small laps along your lips.

When Seokmin sneaks into your room at dinnertime, a small slice of pizza resting on a paper plate, he says, "You deserve better than him."

You nod. But you're not sure you believe him.

You find yourself wondering what he did in the car ride home. What he's doing now. If his cats are happy to all be together again. You wish that you could have seen Soonie's little smile again. Or even seen Minho's fatherly intuitions with him for even an extra split second.

A fingertip rests on your bottom lip. The car is silent, save the low hum of the radio. Disguised by his sunglasses, it appears that Mingyu's eyes are glued to the road at all times. Though he steals a parental glance in the rearview every few seconds, as if to check you haven't withered away.

Even when Seungkwan coughs, Soonyoung bites his tongue. They do not argue the whole way.

When Mingyu arrives outside your apartment complex, you gather your things and get out of the minivan. Its familiar blue paint stings your eyes with tears. You look back into the car before saying with a forced smile, "Thank you, guys."

xi.

Summer dissipates with green fading to amber. You look at the golden leaves scattering the ground of the campus. Minho's smile flashes in front of your eyes, and you shake it away. A parasite.

You jog to class, sparingly glancing at your watch to count each minute you're late. At five past eight you get to the lecture hall. A quiet apology slips past your lips until you climb the stairs to the back.

For a history class, the seats are rather full. You sit at the end of the second to last row, beside a tanned boy with light brown hair and round glasses. His eyes stick on you a little too long, burning your skin.

Professor Nam discusses the syllabus rather quickly, his words failing to succumb to first-day stutters. His sudden clap makes you flinch, and his voice booms all the way back to you. "That's it. Scan the first chapter to familiarize yourself with the material. You're free to go."

You gather your things and are ready to descend the stairs when the boy beside you calls, "Wait!"

You glance back at him and a flash of familiarity blankets him. His words return to you before you can exactly place him. You have a girlfriend?

"Are you Y/N?" he asks.

Pain shoots through your chest and you take a wary step backwards.

He continues, quickly apologizing, "Sorry to catch you off guard like this. I'm Seungmin."

He proffers his hand. You take it. "Nice to meet you," you manage.

"You too," he smiles. Though, to you, all he says is 'You're the girl he ditched?'

You cannot find the words to form a question, though he beats you to it. He seems to do that, you note.

"What happened with you and Minho?"

Then, when he catches the sparkle of tears glazing your eyes he frantically adds, "If you're comfortable with telling me."

You look down at your shoes, remembering the days of sunshine that quickly turned to cloudy messes. "I don't know, really."

"He was a mess after we left, but he wouldn't tell us anything that happened," Seungmin rambles.

Your eyes shoot back to him. A hoarse laugh grabs your words, "He was a mess?"

Confused, he hesitantly nods.

"He didn't tell me you guys were leaving," you announce, the words stinging you all over again. "And he never left me anything to contact him with. I thought I did something wrong. I probably did."

You remember the white shirt stuffed into your closet, a pair of sweatpants crumbled beneath it. His scent is faintly attached to the fibers. Though, maybe, it's just your imagination.

Seungmin's eyes soften. "I'm sorry. You probably didn't do anything. He wouldn't react the way he did if you had. He's just stupid."

You dismiss yourself, aiding the excuse that you're meeting with a friend for coffee and he understands. Seungmin watches as you leave the lecture hall, a soft sigh tickling his lips.

When you get back to the apartment (not having another class until noon) you cry. Hot tears that irritate your skin. You pull out the tee shirt and hug it close. And the words, again, fall from your lips like a mantra. "I'm sorry."

xii.

Seungmin asks you to coffee a week later, a hint of something unfamiliar in his eye. You agree, though only under the pretense that he pays.

The coffee shop by the campus is riddled with already tired students and rushed projects. Seungmin sits by the window. An iced americano is cupped in his hand and he absentmindedly sips it, eyes over at a set of baristas scrambling to fulfill orders. His gaze breaks, falling onto you and he waves.

"Did I keep you waiting long?" you ask as you pull yourself onto the stool.

He shakes his head, gently setting the sweating coffee on a napkin. "No, I just got here."

He glances back to an aproned barista, who anxiously stares back. His eyes are apprehensive, tinged with a glimmer of something fierce. Seungmin nudges your hand, pointing at the boy.

You feel your heart stop beating. You might be leaning forward and passing out. You might be dying. But one thing's for sure, the boy who is currently holding your eyes makes you blister with heat and blur at the eyes. He stares with a freezing gaze that shoots goosebumps all along your skin.

And then he offers a hint of a smile that warms your body like a blanket. He glances to a coworker, inaudibly says something, and removes his apron. He tosses it into a small blue basket before rushing over. Seungmin gives up his seat.

Minho smacks the back of his head. "Thanks for drinking all of my americano."

"Shouldn't have left it there," Seungmin shrugs before starting towards the exit.

At the door, he turns back and smiles, "Have a good talk!"

You dumbfoundedly watch as Minho lifts himself to the stool. He rests interlocked hands on the table, creating a cage around his half-empty americano. "I'm sorry," he says.

"For what?" you look at him like a lost puppy. His heart softens and the guilt overrides him.

"Leaving," he glances outside, down the street where Seungmin crosses.

You somehow manage to keep looking at him. "Was it something I did?"

"No," he instantly turns back to you. "It was me."

"That's what everyone says," you fight a hurt chuckle. "You can tell me, really. It won't hurt."

And with a forced reassuring smile, you look deep into his eyes.

He shakes his head. "No really, it was me. I was confused and terrible at facing what I was feeling. I didn't want to admit that constantly wanting to kiss someone was more than friendly."

"I take it you still are," you mention. "Considering Seungmin didn't even know."

His head twitches in a nod. "Something like that."

A silence lies over you, though it's unlike the one you held when you walked back from the Camper's Corner. This one seems menacing. As though it has the power to destroy everything.

He suddenly grabs your hand and plays with your fingertips. He does not know the number of times you have pressed them to your lips—sixty-two. He does not know the days you spent staring at your ceiling, eyes burning from spilling insufficient tears. He does not know that you halted communication with everyone, save Yeji, from the trip because they reminded you too much of him. Yet still, his touch cascades your body with heat, as though none of that happened.

"You really don't have to accept this, but I would like to make it up to you."

Your heart catches in your throat and it echoes its thumps throughout your entire body. "Are you asking me on a date?"

Hesitantly, he nods. "I think so."

Your smile burns a whole through his chest. You ask innocently, eyebrows raised with joy, "Can I come see your cats?"

He laughs. "You'd have to meet my mom 'cos they live with her. My apartment complex doesn't allow pets."

"Second date, then."

"You already think you wanna go on a second date with me?" Minho grins, leaning a little closer.

You blush, shaking your head.

You stare into his eyes and see a tiny reflection of yourself. Behind that, you see remorse. Lost time. He's going to make up for it. That's a promise, even if it's not verbal.

xiii.

His laugh bubbles throughout the small room like the sizzle of soda. He pulls the cat close to him, cradling him like a baby. You watch as the cat paws at his chin.

He looks up at you, "I think he likes me."

You smile as he glances back to the cat. He nestles his fingers beneath the cat's chin and gently scratches.

Upon the idea of coming to a cat cafe, he was hesitant. "They might smell Soonie or something," he had pouted.

"It'll be fine," you had promised, taking his hand. They were warm, you recall, like those last days of summer.

And now here you sit, perched atop a chair while Minho rolls around with the cats. All swarming him like he carries a cat-summoning device. His smile is radiant against the sea of calico and tabby.

A flutter ravages in your chest when his eyes find yours. "Why are you staring at me like that?" he laughs.

"Like what?"

"You just look," he thinks. "I can't explain it."

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips. "Cat got your tongue?"

He delivers a wry laugh, returning his attention to the tabby who paws at his chin.

You watch as he fights the crowd to sit up. One immediately climbs upon his shoulder, reaching up to dig its paws in his hair. He gently pulls it off of him, resting it on the plush rug. He returns to his spot aside from you, bringing the straw of his iced americano to his lips.

"I feel bad," he finally says, curiously glancing down to the tugging sensation against the cuff of his sweatpants.

"Why?" you ask, resting your forearms on the table.

He looks back to you. "Because this is our first real date and we're in a place aimed for my interest. I'm supposed to be the one making things up to you, not the other way around."

You fight a laugh. "You know I like cats too, you know?"

"Yeah, but," he hesitates. "they're not really paying attention to you."

You shrug. "That's fine. Watching you interact with them is enough."

He smirks, "So you're saying you like watching me?"

"Interact with cats, yes," you confirm.

A hand grabs yours as he leans across the table to kiss you. His lips taste just like you remember—those sixty-two times did not go to waste. They're soft and taste vaguely of his coffee addiction. Back in summer, they had tasted like faint watermelon. Sometimes strawberries.

Abruptly, he pulls away. "Wait, I didn't ask if I could kiss you, I'm so sorry."

"You didn't ask me the first time you kissed me."

He squints, "Really?"

You nod, a shadow of a laugh tumbling over your lips.

He glances out the window, a look of reliving riddling his features. Eyebrows knitted together. Lips fallen agape. Finally, he looks back to you. "I don't remember not asking."

"Do you remember asking?" you tease, biting your straw between smiling teeth.

"Touche. But that's under different circumstances than right now. I'm supposed to be regaining your trust, not spontaneously kissing you."

You cock your head at him. "In summer, we barely knew each other and you were sneaking into my cabin to sleep in the same bed as me. How is that much different from randomly kissing me?"

He shyly brings his straw to his lips again, taking a long sip that extends the silence. "Summer was different," he finally says.

"Elaborate on that for me, please."

He sighs, flecks of red darting across his cheeks. He looks like he's about to give a presentation for a class he's failing. "Summer Minho," he finally begins, "was insanely stupid."

And then, his words fall. Another silence, save a couple cats clawing at a scratching post.

"And?" you urge him to continue.

He pouts. "I wasted so much time. We could've done this whole dating thing months ago, but because I wanted to run away from those scary feelings, we're here."

Then, in your stunned silence, he adds, "I wish I could go back and force myself to stick around. Or at least leave you a note. I thought about doing that, you know."

You sigh. "You can't change the past."

He lamentably nods, looking down at a sleeping cat to disguise the film blurring his vision.

"So let's make up for lost time," you declare, standing up.

He looks at you confusedly. "What?" he croaks.

"Minho," you offer your hand. Hesitantly he takes it, standing too. You continue, "I don't think I was ever really mad at you. I focused all of the blame on myself. So please, kiss me whenever. Show up at my doorstep at three in the morning because one of the boys got on your nerves. I don't care. I just want to be with you."

A small smile twitches as a lonesome tear slips down his cheek. He pulls you into his chest. The vibration of his laugh shakes against your ear as he whispers, "You're gonna regret saying that part about me showing up at your doorstep."

You laugh and shake your head, though deep down you know he's probably right.

xiv.

Lee Minho is a piece of work. Having the nerve to show up at your apartment while the world is shaking with thunder. His hair is soaking wet, as are his clothes. Though, kept dry, is the brown bag of Chinese food he shoved beneath his hoodie.

He laughs through shivers when you open the door, alternatively drenched with the desire for sleep.

"Did I wake you?" he asks, teeth chattering.

Through squinted eyes, you slowly nod, stepping out of the way to let him in. So tired, you note, that you didn't even bring him a towel before he enters the apartment. Small droplets of water quiver at his movement, pooling beside your doormat.

"Do you still have those clothes I lent you?" he shouts when you retreat back to your room.

A response is unnecessary, for you're already bringing them to him. White tee and black sweatpants, neatly folded. His cologne officially disappeared in the last wash, subtly replaced with your laundry detergent and Yeji's rose perfume.

He steps into your bathroom, quickly asking where your towels are. You point to the small bamboo cabinet Yeji insisted on buying the week before.

You glance at the green digits atop the stove. 12:56 A.M. A wry laugh clogs your throat as you suddenly remember what you had told him two weeks ago on your first date. Though, this begs the question: do you regret telling him that? No, actually. Because now, you will finally be able to fall asleep in his arms again. Plus, he brought you food for unintentional compensation of waking you. That's commendable.

He returns from the bathroom, his new clothes lay over dry skin. Yet, his hair is still damp and sticking every which way. He vehemently shakes his head like a wet dog, sending a few droplets to brush your skin.

He tugs on the top of his shirt, bringing it across his forehead to wipe at straying rain.

Then, he stands still. A simper creeps across his face and he approaches you, entrapping you in his arms. Gently, he sways you, mimicking the boat on the lake. "Sorry for showing up unexpectedly. Jisung kicked me out."

You fight his grip to look up at him. "Why?"

"I may have joked about kidnapping the cats and bringing them to our apartment."

"Was it really a joke?" you inquire.

He laughs. "No."

You press your ear against his collarbone, silently sighing. A content smile crosses your lips as you close your eyes.

xv.

A distant, long forgotten episode of Haikyuu! hums on the TV. Minho's forehead is pressed against your shoulder and his light snores usurp the quiet argument between Hinata and Kageyama. Minho's arms have gone limp around your waist, loosened by the depths of slumber.

You turn in his arms and stare at the slope of his nose. The way his lips are barely parted. The way his eyelashes tickle against his cheeks. His hair has long since dried, though frizz defies its normal shape. You smile before pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of his nose.

In your younger years you had imagined that your final year of college would be tinged with the weight of growing old. Now, every time you're with Minho—in his arms or merely in his presence—you're relieved of all of the nonsense adulthood brings. No stress. Just simply living. It's like a constant adventure with him.

His eyes peek through heavy lids and he tips his head back a little, tapping the back of the couch. In a drowsy voice, he mutters, "Stop watching me sleep, weirdo."

You giggle. "You were snoring."

He shuts his eyes again, humming as he returns his head to the pillow. Barely audible, he whispers, "I love you."

A loud thump echoes in your ears before a smile creeps up to your lips. "I love you too."

In the morning, he will deny this ever happening. Yet still, you will smile and go along with it. "Maybe I was imagining it," you will say with a shrug before disappearing to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. In your wake, he will whisper those three words again, and you will pretend you hadn't heard. Though a smile will fall on your lips when you return to him, two mugs cozied in your hands.

Now, you know that it's nearing four in the morning, and though your tiredness has long fled, you rest your forehead against his and shut your eyes. Lee Minho loves you, even if he denies saying it in his slumber-drunk world. He wants you to stay. And in return, he will stick by your side. Even when you forget Dori's birthday.


End file.
